CHOKING
by atrish1
Summary: What what would have happened if Papa Theodore had done some damage? Malignity is a deep seated and virulent disposition to injure.It is more dangerous than malevolence, because it is not only more completely concealed but it often instigates harmful acts
1. Chapter 1

_I can never say enough to convey my thankfulness to Kate for helping me in my journey to discover myself—and the writer that is me…finding out they are one in the same._

_**oooo**_

"_Choking"…hmmm_

_A difficult birth…_

_Again I have to compare another one of my writing experiences to giving birth…_

_Seems like this story shouldn't be here…_

_There was some concerns about it's legitimacy—it's paternity… some talk of possible defects-- aborting …_

_There were times I felt like I was choking--RL stress and situations that made it a challenge for me to carry this one to full term. But this story kept a strong hold-- nursing at the teat -- demanding to be given life _

_What can a mother do?_

_So here it is… the angst and comfort and love is there—just a bit down the road y'all._

_**ooooooo**_

_I'd like to offer the usual disclaimer(s)- S& H don't belong to me—sadly so, __and I don't make any money for telling these stories about them. _

_I'm taking liberty with making changes to what happened on "Playboy Island" and have sent the story to a different place than the original episode. You know – a what if…_

_I also am borrowing from "Hutchinson for Murder One " the character of Officer Simonetti –he just seemed like a perfect match for what I was looking for—_

_(sorry if typos)_

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CHOKING

"STARSK! _Let go!_ You 're killing him! Let **GO**!" Huggy had arms around the dark-haired cop's body, desperately trying to wrestle away the hands on Hutch's neck that were choking the life out of him.

"_**What are you doing**_?" Huggy couldn't get Starsky to loosen his ferocious grip and Hutch had seconds earlier stopped gasping for air. The murderous, hateful look on David Starsky's face frightened the gangly barkeeper but it couldn't stop him from trying to prevent Starsky from taking Hutch's life.

Huggy glanced around frantically. A large tree limb lay nearby. He grabbed at it and with just a moment's hesitation swung and made impact to his friend's back. Starsky's head rose up when the limb made contact. Disoriented, he blinked several times and then tipped over on his side.

"**Go**! _Over there!"_ Huggy took a chance the dazed man would listen, as he pointed to the trunk of a gigantic ancient-looking tree. "Get over there!"

Starsky practically crawled away. The cop was under the influence of whatever voodoo, drug, or potion Papa Theodore had him slipped him.

The two other men Huggy had enlisted to help find his friends, came running onto the scene of Huggy examining the intended murder victim's seemingly lifeless body.

"Hutch?" he called. He patted his friend's pale cheek with trembling fingers as he pleaded with him. "C'mon now, Blondie. You breathe!" he ordered. _"Breathe!"_

Word had traveled like wildfire. The tale of the white men and what Papa Theodore had done to them. Huggy had searched the island from the minute his Aunt Minnie had told him of the rumored death looming over their souls. The evil Bokor had stirred anamolous destruction for the cops who had dared to disrespect his power. They had played with fire and had gotten burned.

"Wilton," Huggy called out to his cousin, _"He's breathin' right?"_ Huggy needed confirmation.

His cousin, making his own observation, put an ear to Hutch's chest and then to his mouth. "Yeah, mon-- he's breathin'."

Huggy saw Starsky's movement from behind. "Stay there!" He yelled. The drugged cop's chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed with miscomprehension. But the evil that had been there had faded.

"_Hutch?"_ Starsky meekly questioned as he tried to get up.

"NO!" Huggy told him. Exhausted and worn out, Starsky let his head slump back onto the massive trunk and slipped into unconsciousness.

Hutch moaned out pain through bluish lips. The skinny bartender rested a hand on his friend's chest. "It's alright, now. I'm gonna get you some help."

**-oooo-**

_Why! Why! Starsk? You're killin' me! Starsk!_

He knew he was dreaming but the nightmare was real. Starsky, driven by some barbaric power inside him had put hands around his throat and squeezed … and squeezed…and squeezed. Hutch had kicked out his legs and batted arms…finally he had grabbed hold of Starsky's wrists and had looked into the burning hatred in his eyes. No longer able to draw in a breath, he had surrendered to the darkness. But the look in his partner's face—the rage and hatred followed him there.

_Starsk…No_

He was awake now.

Couldn't talk. His throat nearly swollen shut. The muscles and tendons inside side were on fire.

He was in a hospital. People had come and gone. Attended to him, talked over him. Huggy had sat in the chair by his bed… but not the other one.

Hadn't seen Starsky since….

_Why? Why?_

Starsky hated him and he didn't know why.

Starsky had tried to _kill _him.

Hutch tried to process that—but couldn't. Everything inside him rejected it. I could not have happened…

But he had been there… saw the loathing in his partner's eyes and had come to the understanding--- _resolved_ that his life was coming to an end. Wet sand under him. Over him the brightness of a sun filled blue sky. Crystal clear aqua water--waves splashing near his head. The spasms in his lungs-- cut off from the sea-misted air so close… yet so far away, as Hutch was unable to wrestle free of the grip of death Starsky had on him.

He had tried to fend off the attack—but wasn't able to fight for his life like he needed to. Couldn't brandish the blows--punches that would take down an adversary. Starsky was his partner—his friend and every time Hutch didn't answer his blows with equal intensity was just like driving a nail into his own coffin. At some point overwhelming fear had crippled him. Fear of death. Fear of dying. Fear of hurting his friend. So, he had given up.

Reliving it sent terror pulsing through his body like wildfire through a dry forest. He couldn't shake it.

Starsky tried…._No. No. No._

_Trusted him like a brother._

He felt whatever it was they gave him taking control of his body---

Sedation.

_What if Starsky came back?_ Came back to kill him?

It was his last thought before the darkness overtook him.

**-oooo-**

"I gotta see him, Hug!'

"Starsky…"

"Damn it, man! I gotta see him, talk to him—I don't even know _why_--- why I did it—what happened…just need to tell him… I…"

"Starsk—I don't think, it's a good idea, bro. Not till his head's clear and yours too. 'Sides—the doctors here won't allow it. You know they ain't exactly buying this whole thing. Now, _I_ _know_ you wouldn't do nuthin' like this. But two white men from stateside—two cops-- _with some tale about voodoo_. That's just sounding like some BS story sure to hurt tourism. That's the number one source of income, here." Huggy worriedly studied his friend's haunted blue stare. "Anyway, whatever --- hold Papa Theodore …I mean – whatever is going on here—_you so sure he's finished with you?_ Hutch is still alive and so are you."

Starsky growled his frustration. Punching at the air, he turned away from the barkeep and collapsed into the chair next to his hospital bed.

Both Starsky and Hutch had been admitted to St. Mary's Medical Center. Hutch for the severe trauma to his neck and Starsky because of the near catatonic state he had been in for the first 6 hours after his admission. The past 2 hours Huggy had spent explaining to him what he had done to Hutch.

Both of the Bay City cops now had police as guards outside of their rooms. They were there to stop Starsky from leaving his and also to prevent him from getting into Hutch's.

Local law enforcement didn't want to hear anything Huggy had to offer about how close the men were and how much they need to be allowed to see each other. So Huggy had made the call. Called Dobey who had clambered out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and stared making _his_ calls. Arrangements to get his boys back home as soon as possible.

Huggy had to do some more explaining -- to the captain. Several times, re-telling how things had ended up so badly—how Starsky had been made to put his hands on the neck of his best friend and press his fingers into the flesh there—leaving the marks and bruising cops were used to seeing on crime victims.

The whole thing had gone so wrong.

Huggy thought he heard Dobey curse. It sounded like he covered the phone, and the barkeeper heard the man he had just woke up say, "It's about the boys, Edith." Huggy could easily imagine how the few spoken words played out sadly across her face. The couple exchanged a couple more muted sentences and then Dobey was back on the line.

"Look, Huggy--I'm gonna handle this. Let me get back to you – give me a number where I can reach you."

**-oooo-**

The dark-haired cop grew crestfallen as he began to remember bits and pieces of the day before when he had used a super human strength to throw his best friend to the ground—the look of shock and hurt on his partner's face as he squeezed and squeezed until Hutch's eyes were shut—tears streaming down the side of his face. And the voice inside of him--- demanding him – "_Dark must kill the Light._"

Papa Theodore's voice in his head.

But it was his hands that had performed the ultimate act of betrayal.

Starsky looked down at his hands—he hated them—hated himself.

"Look. I'm gonna check on him, right?" Huggy told him as he patted his shoulder in sympathy. "As soon as I can get him signed out of here and you guys are home—everything-- I mean-- you guys can work it out—ya know?"

The detective nodded robotically, "Yeah, we'll work it out. He…knows I wouldn't...He's gotta know I wouldn't…"

He had heard everything Huggy told him but if that was supposed to explain why he had tried to kill Hutch -- none of it made any real sense. How could it?

Now alone, Starsky sat on the corner of the white-sheeted hospital bed, engrossed in studying the hands that had done this horrible thing. The spent man's stomach lurched and he tripped and stumbled into the small bathroom in his room to vomit again.

**-oooo-**

"Hey, Blondie," Huggy said softly. "How ya doing?"

Huggy knew Hutch wouldn't be answering. Even if he wasn't heavily sedated the darkening beet red and blue on Hutch's neck warned of the swelling that had to have accompanied it. Talking would be much too painful.

The skinny man wasn't sure about holding Hutch's hand… but knew somebody should. If Starsky were there – that's what he'd be doing. So he slipped his fingers underneath Hutch's palm. Quite a striking contrast--Hutch's pale hand and his brown one.

The fact they had become close--the street-wise hustler and the midwest-raised All-American type was one of life's enigmas. He bet Hutch played football in high school – or tennis—while he, scrawny street kid looking for his pot of gold, was skipping class to work a vendor's booth downtown. Selling tie-dyed t-shirts to would-be hippie tourists. Hutch probably had parents, coaches, and teachers urging him to keep his nose in the books. Huggy had a nana, one who loved him, but not spry enough to keep an eye on her grandchild day in and day out.

It was odd how it happened. There were reasons though why they became such a big part of each other's lives. Sure-- there was the information about what was going on in the criminal underworld the barkeeper kept parceling out to the two cops and the twenty bucks they regularly slipped him in return. It started out that way—snitch and cops…

But now, Huggy couldn't put into words the depth of the friendship that kept making them stay in each other's life.

This man, in the hospital bed, like Starsky, was in his heart---_was family_. Daily sessions of banter-filled exchanges strung into hours and hours of time spent hanging out together made them so. They looked out for, encouraged, and supported one another. Knew each other's likes and dislikes—read the other's thoughts like breathing. He loved the guy and was sure Hutch felt the same way about him. The blond-haired cop had proved that on more than one occasion. Even risking physical injury.

Like that time early in their friendship, when the off duty fair-haired officer had been downing cool ones on a steamy hot California evening and ended up throwing himself in between the lithe bartender and irate drunken patron. The customer, the size of both Huggy and Hutch together, had threatened the bar owner who had refused to serve him more tequila.

When Huggy had reflected over it later, it didn't go unnoticed that none of his regulars-- supposedly _his buddies_ who so eagerly hung out at his joint for the freebies that came with such close relations -- never moved to lift a hand to help him.

Hutch had taken quite a thrashing from the drunk before uniformed cops, responding to the officer-needs-assistance call, showed up. Ken Hutchinson ended up needing 15 stitches to repair a wicked cut to his forearm.

Huggy felt horrible. But, as they sat in a busy ER--filling up with victims of a four car pileup –waiting for several hours before getting the attention of a doctor—they did a lot of talking-- got to know each other better. They also were witnesses to a frantic Starsky barreling into the place with demands of information on Officer Hutchinson's condition. He terrified the nurse on duty, and both the bartender and an injured Hutch got mild amusement out of the uproar the curly-haired cop made.

Starsky, spotting them, grinned joyously to see his partner sitting up and breathing. He bounded to Hutch's side. And it was in the few minutes as the skinny barkeep watched love given and received-- bouncing back and forth between the two cops that Huggy realized – how much he wanted to stay in this good place. With these two sincere and caring guys. Good people- real friends. Friends who looked out for you-- had your back even if it put their own butt in the frying pan. The Bear had a lot of room in his own heart to be giving and loyal—but just hadn't met too many folks out in those cold streets who wouldn't take those qualities in him for weakness.

He hung around them that night. Waited for Hutch to get his stitches. Once they got outside in the crisp early morning air the men all decided they were hungry.

It was one of the best memories of Huggy's life. He had found a family. They went out for breakfast—Starsky insisting Hutch have steak and eggs to replace the minor blood loss. Then preceded to cut up the meat in bite-size pieces for his best friend with the freshly bandage appendage as Hutch gave him looks of well-played annoyance—which made Huggy give in to a round of giggles he couldn't stop.

Good times…the beginning of many more meals and more laughter...some tears, too. Just like all families.

Was that still salvageable—had Playboy Island destroyed all of that?

Somehow Huggy needed to put his family back together again. But how?

He looked over the man in the bed again telling him, "Don't worry about nuthin' bro. We'll work it out."

**(tbc)**


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to those of you reading. BTW I have completed this story-- just cleaning up the chapters as I post...so I should be posting new chapters regularly._

_Here's some more "CHOKING"_

The attending ER physician just happened to be one of Huggy's closest friends from back in the days when as a young child he had traveled with his Nana to spend summers on the island. The now Dr. Emmanuel Eastman had spent his years of age, 7 through 14, running from one side of the island to the other with his friend from the States in tow—Huggy always managing to get them into some kind of trouble.

Emmanuel was surprised to hear his old running buddy was traveling with the police officers from California. They spoke a few seconds about how their relatives were doing and then Huggy got down to business.

"_Emmanuel, is he gonna be ok?" _

"Huggy, your friend here is very lucky. The bruising was severe and I thought for sure he was going to be bleeding internally and need surgery, but the radiological work looks alright. We're keeping his head elevated—watch him for next twenty-four hours. The swelling is very bad right now—probably be that way for a quite some time. Pretty painful. It's best he remain quiet so he doesn't strain his already injured muscles. We'll keep him heavily medicated – he's in a lot of pain and any extraneous movement could be very discomforting."

"Well, sounds like he's gonna be alright then." Huggy said gratefully.

"Looks that way. But neck trauma can be very tricky. Many times the presentation of the actual extent of the damage can be delayed. But we'll be keeping close watch, okay?"

"Thanks, man. Both these guys are real important to me."

The doctor's expression turned sad as he lowered his voice to ask, _"Hey, what happened out there anyway?"_

"Man, I don't know." Huggy answered with exasperation. "Papa Theodore got to Starksy—some how.

"You sure they didn't have some kind of beef—a lady maybe…"

Huggy cut him off. "No way. My bros just ain't like that. _They're tight—you know_—like we used to be back in the day."

Dr. Eastman smiled broadly in reflection of the great times they shared as young boys. "We were like brothers then," he commented with a hint of sadness.

"Yeah, and that's just like these two. There's _no way_. Look, you and I both seen things," the Bear reminded the doctor.

"Huggy, times have changed. Modern medicine can explain a lot more about all the centuries old practices passed down to these _voodoo_ priests from the elders. Most of the herbs and roots are poisonous or hallucinogenic. There's toxins in plants and animals we're just now learning about – but these so- called witchdoctors have known about this stuff for hundreds of years."

"Emmy, man…" Huggy's use of the childhood nickname he had for his friend was a reminder to the present day doctor that in their youth both had been frightened by such things, "…_you know-- that this is about more than some poisonous plants and fish toxin." _

"Well, this lab coat I'm wearing says it doesn't. I'm going to treat your two friends with hardcore medicine—nothing more and nothing less."

"Fine. So what about Starsky?"

"All right-- you got me. I don't know what he's got pumping through his bloodstream and you aren't gonna be here long enough for the lab guys to figure it out. "

His old friend laid a hand on Huggy's shoulder. "How are _you_ doing?"

The thin black man shook his head in exasperation, as he dragged long fingers over his tightly curled hair. "I'll be glad to get back home."

"I remember when this was like home to you."

**-oooo-**

On the fourth telephone conversation Dobey made his plans clear to the only person who had his detective's backs on Playboy Island. "Look, Huggy I'm getting my boys outta there. There's a private ambulance on the way there to help transport Hutch tonight… they'll take him to an airstrip—now, I'm gonna be on the plane and escort Hutch back home. Lotta folks didn't appreciate the call so early this morning—but as soon as they found out it was Dave and Ken they were helping." He added gruffly "_Thankfully I didn't have to share the details." _

"What about Starsky?"

"Ok—I talked to the hospital administrator. Now they'll release him to you. The police chief there is willing to turn a blind eye to this whole thing – if we can get him out of there before the local magistrate starts sniffing around. I got tickets for you and Dave on the next flight out. That's tomorrow morning at a 10 am. You think you can pull that off?"

"Yeah – yeah. I'll handle it. He's pretty groggy--still spaced out. But I think I can keep him under control—just long enough to get him on a plane. Once his head clears up---man it's gonna get crazy. You know how close these two are. Its gonna tear him up."

"Well, we'll deal with that. I just need you to get him home. Can you do that?"

"Sure, I can do that."

There was silence.

"Huggy?"

"Yeah, Cap'n"

"_Hutchinson?"_ The concerned man was asking again about his injured officer.

"They don't know if there's any brain damage—you know. From lack of oxygen." Huggy quickly tried to soften the news. "It's too early to tell. Told you, a friend of mine's his doctor—I think he's been real with me. He's hopin' Hutch's condition stays stable. Told me sometimes though with neck trauma the actual injuries can be delayed—show up later. I'm bettin' he's good—you know Hutch is a strong dude. I'm just praying for the best."

More silence.

"Alright. Well—you call me if there's any problems on that end," Dobey said before hanging up.

**-ooo-**

Blurry faces and arms restrained his effort to touch the swollen throbbing agony in his neck.

_Let's give him an another shot and then transport him_… he heard.

He shuddered as he felt the brush of fingers glance over the inflamed skin on his neck –making him eek out a raspy protest of _"No"_…

Starsky was trying to kill him.

Hutch tried to move his arms—they were bound. He was terrified, never felt more alone. He wouldn't open his eyes to peer back into the evil in his partner's face. He heard voices— up close and faraway. Familiar and unfamiliar—but he wouldn't even peek to see who they belonged to. He was too afraid. A cloud was overtaking him—and Hutch couldn't think anymore…he was floating in darkness…

**-ooo-**

The Captain wasn't prepared for the horrid bruising he would find around the neck of one of his favorite police officers. Put there by another one of his favorites. "It's alright, son," he told Hutch, who stirred uncomfortably as the medical professionals strapped him down in the special life flight plane Dobey had managed to commandeer.

If someone had shown him pictures of Starsky trying to strangle to death Hutchinson, he would not have believed it. But he had to face the reality of what a years-ancient hoodoo practice could conjure up.

Dobey was smart enough to know such stuff existed but was wise enough to steer clear of it. As a child he heard the talk about the old lady next door who cast spells—"did roots" his mom used to call it. He stayed clear of her yard… never ran through it to take shortcuts. Didn't want to find out what powers she might have. He never expected some 40 years later to have to deal with his fears about the ritual practices. As a kid he liked to roam the nearby woods and often found strange things there. Smoking pungent fires, and dark liquids staining the ground, makeshift altars. Although at that young age he didn't know they were altars for the sacrifice of small animals - - the dark stains most likely their blood. Brought up in the church, Harold Dobey never poked his nose around such things. All religions had their rituals--he didn't want to judge too harshly how anyone chose to worship. A little wine and communion wafer was good enough for him.

But when it came to injuring one of his detectives--- he didn't give any exception. If he could stay on the island—Papa Theodore would be getting a taste of the big man's wrath face to face. No mercy would be shown to the man who had messed with is his boys—Bokor or not.

**-oooo-**

Starsky felt like a criminal.

It had been nearly 36 hours since he had last seen Hutch.

Now he stood at the foot of his partner's hospital bed.

Dobey sat discreetly in the back of the room, Huggy in a chair next to the bed. The upper half of the mattress was elevated, leaving Hutch's mangled neck exposed for all to view.

It was the first time Starsky had been able to see the damage he had done and the first opportunity for him to explain why he had tried to kill his best friend.

Hutch's slightly opened eyes stared blankly back at him.

_The dark will kill the light._

Starsky heard the words and Papa Theodore's voice—was it a memory or command? Suddenly he understood why Huggy kept his place as guardian at Hutch's side and why Dobey had seated himself nearby, pretending to read yesterday's newspaper.

"_Dark must kill the Light_" -- those were the exact words that had possessed him, took control of him.

The dark-haired man swallowed back bile and allowed his gaze to remain on the wretched wounding on his best friend's neck.

Like Hutch, he wasn't able to speak although the reason for his silence was not the same. He couldn't think of one word that would part the sea between them—put there by his own hands…around Hutch's neck. He carefully laid a near-touch to one of Hutch's sheet-covered feet. Hovering over it, Starsky made a gentle motion to touch him again but didn't. Not with the hands that had done this horrible thing.

Starsky bowed his head--shaking it in humiliation.

Huggy, gracefully acknowledging the intensity of the moment, spoke up. "Doc says Blondie here should be out of this place in a day or so. He says it's best he don't strain his throat with talking just yet… but I'm sure if he _could _talk he'd be asking-- why you standing all the way over ther?" Motioning for Starsky to come closer to the head of the bed Huggy instructed, "C'mon, he can barely see you."

Starsky hardly budged until Huggy stood up and grabbed hold of one of his arms to pull him forward.

Hutch made a strained sound as he tried unsuccessfully to say something.

"Hey. Don't." Starsky said pitifully.

Hutch's eyes were more focused as he stared back at his partner, who now stood just inches away from him. There was a question in them, but Starsky didn't have the answer. Shamefully, he bowed his head again.

"All right, now." Dobey interrupted, as he approached the sad reunion of the two officers. "Hutch's doctor said he wanted him to get as much rest as possible so… let's ahhh…let him get some. Okay? Starsky, they just released you—I'll take you home and you guys can…ahhh…finish- I mean…spend some time tomorrow…" The large man was lost for words and he ended the sentence mumbling.

Starsky, grateful for the segue, nodded his cooperation. "See ya, tomorrow," He said quietly to Hutch waving a tentative hand in his direction.

Hutch winced and let out a fragile moan as he tried to nod back.

All the color left Starsky's face and Dobey took hold of him, dragging him out of the room.

**-ooo-**

This whole thing was a mess, Huggy ruminated.

He wished he knew what the injured party was thinking. "Hey wanta write it?" he asked. One of the nurses had been thoughtful enough to leave a pad and pen so that Hutch could still communicate.

No matter how many times Huggy had offered it to him, the blond-haired cop had turned it down. This time wasn't any different.

Hutch rolled his eyes shut—barring Huggy from access to his feelings

**-ooo-**

The attempted murder of one of their officers was being taken very seriously. Afraid of future lawsuits, and protecting one of their own against possible further threats --or harm, the top brass had been adamant about how they wanted the situation handled.

Starsky had been read the riot act by Dobey-- while the investigation was ongoing, all the top cops had made it clear—David Starsky was not to go anywhere near his partner. Some fancy words from a psychiatric work up on Hutch's case—Dobey read to Starsky to assure his cooperation. They hinted at the trauma Hutch might be experiencing and concluded that the any contact with one David Starsky could very well push Kenneth J. Hutchinson over the proverbial edge.

The captain had asked the dark-haired cop, "Dave, do you understand?"

Starsky told him he got it. "The sight of me could make him sicker than he already is. I got it Cap'n," he'd said quietly before launching himself from the chair he sat in and out of Dobey's office.

**(tbc)**


	3. Chapter 3

_Again -- thanks to those who are reading._

_I appreciate it._

**-oooo-**

There was a draft over his head. Hutch sat on a corner of the exam table. The hospital gown he wore left a gaping section of his bare back on the receiving end of the cold air blasting down on him. Shivering sent a lightening bolt of pain to his neck. He eyed the medical instruments that lay on a tray to his left. Couldn't stop looking at them. They were shiny and metallic and were going to be used somehow to poke around the swollen and throbbing mass inside his throat. He was tempted to sneak away, but the skinny black man, who was glued to his side, stood on the other side of the door of the stark examination room. 

Besides he hardly had enough energy to sit up--let alone get up from the table and make his way out into the hallway—escaping doctors, nurse, and his new caretaker, Huggy Bear.

A doctor was going to perform an Indirect Laryngoscopy on him. At least that's what the physician had explained to him.

The shiny stainless steel on the tray drew his gaze again. Announced its presence and suggested its future home was soon to be somewhere digging around inside the scorching pain pulsing in his neck. He groaned quietly both in the expectation of its punishment and also in acknowledgement of the terror building within. Terror – _the state of_ – was a place he was becoming too accustomed to. His partner had been the one to send him on the journey there.

He didn't like being fearful. Not that he didn't have moments when he had been scared. There had been many. The alley—just days before Gillian's murder, or… when poison threatened to take the life of the person most important to him—his partner, or…when Ben Forest had tried to inject a beast from hell into him. And hundreds more…

But every time he had been scared-- Starsky had been there. Hutch had drawn strength from his friend's love and support. Trusted Starsky to have his emotional and spiritual back.

At the moment—even if he could convince himself he was completely at ease with his partner standing at his side—it wouldn't have been permitted.

Dobey ordered the cops to keep distance between them.

Part of Hutch could still feel Starsky reaching out to him. Part only felt the strangling grip of his partner's crushing fingers at other end of that reach. He shuddered.

The door swung open.

"Detective Hutchinson, so sorry I kept you waiting," the doctor offered apologies as he gave the detective a warm smile.

Hutch barely nodded as he watched the doctor move to give his hands a good scrub in a nearby sink.

Dr. Lisner asked him, "Feeling ok today," while slipping a pair of latex gloves over his disinfected hands. Not waiting for Hutch's answer, the doctor began gently probing his patient's wounded neck. "Hmm, swelling hasn't gone down much. Was hoping we'd see some improvement," he mulled.

Hutch grimaced from the light contact and slightly turned his face away to hide his pain from the physician.

"Sorry," the examiner mumbled as he continued peering through his bifocals at the bruising.

Hutch wanted to tell him it was all right but he couldn't take the words in his head through the maze of inflammation-- form them in the back of his mouth and roll them off the chalkiness on his tongue. He couldn't stand the taste in his mouth. Wanted to scrub away the organic tinge of stale blood and bitter medicine that were coating his teeth and gums. He raised a hand to his chest and uttered a sound that should have been a word. "Ugmhm."

The doctor cast his eyes up at Hutch. "Don't try to talk," he instructed firmly. "Ok, I want to take look in there." Lisner made a deliberate swipe at metal on the tray, picking up a long pointed object with a mirror on the end of it.

Hutch glanced down at it and felt another shudder zip up his back. Glancing up to the doctor's face –he realized his complete preoccupation with the tray hadn't allowed him to notice the doctor wore some contraption of light and mirror on his head.

His puzzled expression wasn't missed by the physician who commented, "This procedure is simple. Just going to use this." He held up a metal tongue depressor. "…and this." And showing Hutch the mirror in hand again, "…to look down your throat. The other items on this tray are just decoration, okay? Nothing pointy. I won't be doing any cutting. I would spray with a local anesthetic but the taste can be quite bitter and could also cause the sensation of swelling. I don't want you to have deal with anymore discomfort than necessary. Unless you feel you want it?"

Hutch waved a hand to dismiss the need for the spraying.

Not too long ago…

Starsky would have been flitting around behind him. Playing class clown to distract him and make light of the whole thing. Now it was just Hutch and his fear. And the metal soon to be probing at the site of his tribulation.

"Can you open up for me?"

Hutch tried to obey. But it hurt. Open up for more pain.

"Just a little wider, please," the doctor asked.

Hutch's eyes followed the distorted too-close-image of the gleaming steel items making their entry. Instinctively, he pulled away from the coldness taking possession of his tongue.

"Don't move." Lisner ordered in an authoritative voice.

He felt naked and small, not his imposing 6ft. The doctor began to investigate what Hutch had hid behind a shut mouth and cotton collars pulled together tightly.

What Starsky had done to him.

The cold steel grazed the back of his throat at the same time the reality of the moment kicked in.

_What Starsky had done to him._

Not a minor disagreement –or an accidental injury during some playful roughhousing ...

Attempted murder was the charge.

Hutch gagged. The doctor extracted the mirror as he kept a firm hold of the pressure on Hutch's tongue.

"That's a normal response. You didn't have breakfast right?" Not waiting for Hutch's answer, the white-coated man quickly looked down at Hutch's chart for corroboration.

_Normal Response?_

Hutch's stomach had curled in sympathy to the light gagging reflex and he wasn't sure that any bold attempts of macho control would settle it. 

"Yes, Ok. Just some broth and fruit juice last night."

_Whatever--_ Hutch thought. Tell it to his stomach. There was some queasiness forming.

Hutch's pathetic expression earned him some bedside compassion. "I'll be quick," the doctor promised.

One more gentle nudge.

The tingling of loss of control of his body began in his calves. Hutch wanted to shake the doctor off and push him away – but the man had metal objects pressing at the back of his throat. It hurt and Hutch didn't want one iota of movement from him to trigger more pain.

Another poke and it was over.

Liquid and bile splashed forward. Splattering on Dr. Lisner's glasses and dripping down to the man's cheek.

Horrified, Hutch found himself unable to control his gagging, and his retching continued. It sent minions of dutiful nerve cells screaming in protest to the insane act of adding vomiting to the list of woes to the savaged area.

The liquid drenched the front of the thin fabric covering of the hospital gown and Hutch tried to get off the table.

"No," Dr. Lisner's excited voiced advised.

A plastic bin appeared from nowhere and Hutch leaned in, moaning in agony to deliver another wave of the bile coming up into the receptacle.

Tears ran down his face and he grabbed at the tightening in his chest as air tried to escape from filling his lungs.

"Please Relax, Detective Hutchinson—you're fine."

"Agmyy," Hutch cursed. He was a grown man. Vomiting all over himself and his doctor. He was embarrassed for it.

It would have been a good time to have Starsky's comical jestering to make light of it. But all there was his utter demoralization. The remains of his self-regard splattered on the physician's bifocals and onto the gray tiled floor.

**-ooo-**

"You gotta eat. Eating's not optional. _Hutch?_"

Hutch tried to ignore both the Native-American designed earthenware and the man who thought putting soup in it would make him more interested in consuming its contents.

"You keep runnin' on empty and I know whose gonna be carting you back to the hospital—_me_," Huggy argued. "Your doctor said you could come home _if_ you'd follow his orders. Want me to drop a dime—I will!"

Hutch waved a threatening finger at Huggy who continued his cautionary tirade.

"That's where you wanna go—_gonna go_. Cuz I'm not gonna sit by and watch you starve yourself.…C'mon man," Huggy added pleadfully. "_Cmon,_ do it for me, huh? Eat your soup—I worked hard on making sure it's tasty—I swear."

Hutch sighed his defeat, slowly inching his fingers to the spoon sticking out of the warm bowl of thick cream and pureed vegetables.

A minute ticked by and Huggy tipped his head slightly in the direction of the telephone and the call he was seconds away from making.

Hutch loudly gruffed his surrender and picked up the small tray of vegetable soup, yogurt with strawberry preserves, and iced tea – all prepared by the his newly self-appointed caretaker.

He lifted the spoon to his mouth and made a careful swallow.

Gazing up at Huggy, he nodded his compliance and went to work to finish off the food.

"All right then." Huggy said softly –without any tone of victory in his voice. "All right."

He was worried about Ken Hutchinson. A good friend and up until a few days ago David Starsky's best friend.

-**oo-**

Huggy said:

"I'm not gonna tell you something didn't happen on that island. I don't care bout what people think, man. There's things that go bump in the night. But Hutch, evil is evil. There's no difference between the guy selling smack to kids in the playground and some voodoo priest. Now, don't get me wrong, you know I'm no saint. Done my fair share of sinning in the past and more ahead I'm sure. _But, bro-- fear what you know_. Not what you don't. There's just stuff we're not gonna understand—cuz we…we ain't supposed to. Don't kid yourself-- you and Starsky _always_ have been battling evil—it just came at you in way you wasn't expectin'—that's all. You know _who _and _what_ that curly haired dude is all about. Evil—_nah_—no way--hmm—_pain in the rear?—yeah_."

Hutch gazed sharply at the advice giver. He couldn't help but to find some humor in the observation Huggy had made.

"All I'm telling you is-- no shrink or internal investigation can tell you what you already know. Starsky…"

Hutch waved a hand to dismiss the conversation. "Know that." He said through strained muscles.

"All right then. But, you got some doubt. Right?" Huggy questioned.

Hutch looked away guiltily.

**-oooo-**

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." Hutch almost whispered, moved slowly to unblock Starsky's entry to the living room.

Hutch modestly pulled the collar of his bathrobe over the abuse on his neck.

"Don't." Starsky said quietly.

"What?"

"You don't hafta do that—try to hide it. I know it's there. Know it's nasty. Saw it when you were in the hospital, 'member?"

"Oh." Hutch said, wincing-- his left eye fluttered uncontrollably as he moved too quickly to motion Starsky to sit.

"Hurts, huh?"

"Not – much…any...more." Hutch rasped out, unsuccessfully lying to his partner who responded with an accusation.

"Liar."

"Alright…hurts. Want beer?"

The almost-midnight visitor had barely entered the room --one of his hands remained on the gold metal knob of the front door. "Ain't gonna be here that long." Starsky stated.

That got him a questioning glance.

"I just came by to tell ya…"

"What?" Hutch's new gruff voice made Starsky squint.

"I can't do this one." Starsky admitted his complete inability to deal with what he'd done to his best friend.

"Uhm…don't know…"

The dark-haired man cut off any feeble attempt by his partner to play dumb. "Need help with this one. Hutch--_we need help_."

There-- Starsky had laid out the only resolution to get them both to the other side of the nightmare.

"Doc says --month— and bruising's -- gone." Hutch managed to say the whole sentence with a bit of volume—hoping to hijack the direction of the conversation. He didn't need help to understand what had happened. _Did he?_

"Funny thing is, Blintz—you and I ain't soon gonna forget who put it there."

Silence cast an eerie shadow over the two men.

"Not--your fault." Hutch tried to counter after too much of a delay to make it sound convincing.

"Yeah – so everyone keeps telling me."

They stared at each other until Hutch looked away.

"Do it for me," Starsky asked him.

"Stars…" Hutch shook his head in disagreement.

"That's all I wanted to say. We ain't even supposed to be talking." The dark-haired man, skulking with defeat, walked out.

The soft click of the front door punctuated the end of their conversation.

**(tbc)**


	4. Chapter 4

**-oooo-**

How long had he been sitting there—it was getting dark outside. Only minutes earlier sunlight was peeking through the closed curtains in Hutch's kitchen.

He had finally got up from bed-- rolling out from under the mountain of blankets that had made him feel 'safe' and hidden. Huggy had been by the apartment earlier that morning—practically force-feeding him a breakfast of oatmeal and scrambled eggs and "get up and greet the day" clichés.

And now it was dark outside?

He had lost track of the day when a cloud of something invisible and ominous had attacked him in his kitchen.

Fear…

It had had backed him into a corner… and Hutch crawled up his body there trying to escape from the smell of sea and the spasmatic tightening of the muscles in his aching throat.

He was home but he just as well could have been back on Playboy Island. Hutch could swear he could hear the roar of waves surrounding him.

This was the second time since he'd been out of the hospital that he had lost control. Allowed some unnamed terror to steal away the air from his lungs.

He was a grown man—this shouldn't be happening. Curling up in a corner -- like a 5-year-old.

A raging heartbeat and paralyzing fear had taken him captive. He tried to concentrate on the coffee that had splashed onto the floor around him – the handle of the cup still in his hand. He had been unable to hold on to it --when he felt the room closing in – leaving him laying in broken pieces like the shattered cup.

**-oooo**-

Starsky listened to the ladies of the small support group. The flyer, tacked on to a bulletin board at work, about help available to crime victims had caught his eye. Something in his gut compelled the cop to make the call. He was thankful when the woman who now led the conversation, Dr. Harper, invited him to join them that evening. Harper, a psychologist, had already discussed his presence there with the women who had all been victims of violent crime. Several of them strangulation survivors-- didn't know the details of why Sergeant David Starksy needed to hear what they had to say. They only knew someone-- very close to him had been on the receiving end of an act of violence and that the Bay City officer wanted to understand from other first-hand accounts what that person might be going through.

The first ten minutes of the session were spent on introductions.

Soon after, the group members engaged in an open conversation about being survivors of their near death experiences.

"It's the feeling of complete despair-- _you're powerless_…"

"Yeah, same here—but for me – even when it was happening—my thinking was so clear—every detail of what was going on is still new to me—even though it happened 3 years ago. When I think about it—I see everything. Sometimes…I think I can feel it, too."

"Right...me too," said another woman. She looked up at Starsky shyly and around to the other seven females who sat in a circle facing each other. "I –remember the resentment."

Starsky leaned forward as the woman took a second to fiddle with a button on her sweater.

Dr. Harper picked up Starsky's interest in the newest member of the group's comment, "Go on Marilu. You had a sense of resentment. Can you expand on those feelings for us?"

"Well, I – I think I resented the fact that… my life was ending… just that easily…and I felt like I was losing out on everything…all my dreams…everything gone. Even now I don't feel like I can take it all back—like it doesn't belong to me anymore. Since it can disappear just like that. It's funny...I still feel that loss."

"Do you mind tellin' me what happened to you?" Starsky asked carefully, checking Dr. Harper's face for any objection. There wasn't any and Marilu dipped her head. She looked up at him with shiny eyes and said. "No…I don't mind. I'm getting used to telling it. One night…my… _my boyfriend_ decided he wanted to break up with me—but…" She smiled sadly, "He wanted the breakup up to be a permanent one. He…dragged me into our bedroom…" She paused, bringing up a hand with nails chewed down to the quick to pull the collar of her sweater together protectively around the bare skin there. Her cheeks glistened with tears as she continued. "I trusted him. It was completely out of nowhere and I was confused… I asked him—_you're doin this to me_… and then I was _so angry_… I wanted to grab something and smash him in the head—but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't—couldn't protect myself. H-he…had his hands-- on my throat and I was _horrified_ by the thought of ending up in the paper-- my parents and friends reading about _some woman strangled to death by her boyfriend _in the wee hours of the morning—_like it was drug related_. People would think that, _you know_ --or that I had cheated on him with his best friend _or _say he was a mad drunk. Wasn't anything like that. Nothing like that. It came outta nowhere. I mean--how long was it that he was thinking about it? _What had I done to deserve that?"_ She posed the question directly to Starsky and overwhelming guilt forced him to look away.

"_He wasn't no good!"_ A twenty-something group member declared vehemently.

"Well, _my man_ was always flippin' out," someone else in the circle shared angrily. "With me, honey-- It was just a matter of _oh yeah_ --he _is_ gonna kill-me. The only question I had was _when_ and _how_."

Another woman chimed in, "I didn't even know who my attacker was. Still don't. I can't stop thinking he might just come back and finish what he didn't the first time. I hardly leave the house anymore."

Feeling like the group might permit him another question, Starskywas purposeful not to reveal his own shame, when he asked. "Whattaya feel about your attacker?"

"I hate 'em!" One woman responded immediately. "Who the hell _was he_ to decide _my_ life should be over?"

"I don't know how I feel about Larry." Marilu added, revealing the name of the man whose assault on her came out of nowhere. "I was in love with him one minute and the next I just wanted him gone. Didn't want to smell his cologne--hear his voice. I went to his trial and-- I couldn't even look at him. I _shared my life_ with him and …I don't think I could ever trust myself to do that with anyone else—ever again. I trusted him. _You know?"_

Starsky gave her an afflicted nod and Marilu kept talking. "I still feel it – sometimes – when he was choking me—h-his hands on me…and I couldn't breath… and then I have these--- these…umm, Dr. Harper says they're _panic attacks_. Something overtakes me and I'm in that bed again with his knee pressing down on my chest. It's happening all over again. Out of nowhere ... and... I'll get scared to death and I'm powerless again. Can't get any air and…ahhh… I can't make sense of where I am or what's happening… and well it was rough for a while—but coming here I've learned some tools to control 'em. I don't get them much any more."

"That's good." Starsy said sympathetically, giving her a tepid smile.

Marilu stared blankly, speaking her next words almost to herself. "At the trial all he kept saying was he didn't know what came over him. You know, I- I just wished he had been _strong_ enough to fight it. Love me enough to fight it. That's all. Now, he's going to be in jail for the next 15 years of his life and I feel like my sentence ain't that much better."

**-oooo**-

"Ahh. C'mon, Starsk!" The bartender said dismissively.

"It's a good question."

"_A ridiculous one_," Huggy insisted.

"Oh, yeah? Well, what I am gonna tell Hutch when he asks me—why I wasn't strong enough, _huh?_ You got an answer for that? " Starsky challenged the bar owner.

"Look, I don't know what it was that made you do it. _I can't explain what happened on that island. _That wasn't you, man—that's all the answer there is. As soon as you get that through your thick skull…"

Starky shook his head. "It was me that did it!" he replied with volume.

"I mean it brother, there's one thing I know for sure, Starsk-- _that wasn't you_. Hutch knows it, too. It'll just take him a little while to remember that."

Starsky leaned over the bar to make his point-- anger in his voice masked his desperation. "Ok. Answer me this then, Hug. _If_, like you said some _outside_ _force_ took over me--and I wasn't able--I was powerless to stop it. _What _makes you _so_ sure it won't take me over again?"

Huggy's facial features showed shock as he absorbed the truth Starsky had just laid out in front of him.

What if Papa Theodore's voice was still inside his dark-haired friend?

**-ooo-**

Hutch was blasting the TV, portable radio, and an album on his turntable.

An attempt to chase away the sounds and smells that kept creeping up on him. Visions of living his death over and over again at the hands of his beloved partner.

He had a terrible feeling growing deep inside him--all the noise from the small electric appliances were keeping it from rising up and taking over.

**-ooo-**

"So will you think about it?"

"Ahhh, Starsk this's -- crazy... don't need it." Hutch protested against the suggestion that they go hash it all out in front of a third party.

"You gonna tell me everything's ok with you-- _with us?"_ Starsky asked him point blank.

"Damn it." Hutch launched himself off the couch and started an impatient pacing-- turning on Starsky, he repeated, "Damn't Stars-- don't n-need this."

Starsky made his friend uncomfortable under his steady gaze and Hutch looked down suddenly-- intrigued by the pair of shoes he had put on that morning.

"It's interesting ...some of the things I heard those women talkin' about—and I'm wondering if that's how _he_ feels. I mean-- if --that's how _you_ feel? But you...you're not talkin to me, partner." Starsky raised a weary look so that Hutch could see how important it was to him – to have Hutch share his true feelings with him.

"Because _this_," He waved his arms for emphasis, "Not your--FAULT-- I told you -- what a -- hundred - times! Don't blame you..." The gravely condition of Hutch's voice didn't help the statement to sound believable. Hutch couldn't stop the motion of placing a hand over his throat--coughing lightly from the stress he'd put on it by trying to effect some kind of yell back at his friend.

"It was me that did it--- can't get around that. I can't and neither can you, partner." Lowering his voice with gloom, Starsky added. "No matter how much you try and hide it...you're hurtin'-- I'm hurtin' too-- it's like the voodoo doc's got a hold of both of us..."

"You're not listening." Hutch said softly as the volume of distress in Starsky's voice rose while he continued talking.

"It's – it's like he's _claimed us or sumpthin_... I still smell the seaweed and see your face--- _Dam__n it, Hutch_--- _I tried to kill you_." Starsky stood by-- markedly absorbed by his friend's effort to block the truthful words.

"Not…listening to me...'' Hutch muttered... "Not doing this..." as he grabbed his jacket to leave.

"Hey!" Starksy yelled. The door slammed as Hutch stormed out.

**-oooo-**

Maybe Starsky was right -- about talking about it. But the whole thing was ridiculous-- sounded like the worst of worst creature feature movie ever. So what was Starsky-- the morphing human to beast and him-- the damsel in distress. It was ridiculous. He wouldn't play that role--_no_-- he wasn't' afraid of his partner. He subconsciously raised a hand to his throat and winced as it made contact. The bruising there revolted and Hutch quietly moaned at the touch of his own hand to the small banner of brutality he wore as a souvenir. He wanted it to go away-- the pain, the inflamed beet red and black skin and -- the shadow of fingers-- marking their presence- the fingers that had grabbed and pressed-- dug into his skin until it was raw.

He was obsessed by the peculiar necklace that he had brought back from his stay on Playboy Island. Not too many people had one like his -- he thought with cruel humor. Not too many people had their best friend grin down at them will they tried to squeeze the life out of you. Hutch spent hours in front of the mirror gazing at it – reliving how it got to be there.

But it wasn't Starsky's fault.

It was hard to think that – and ignore the facts. He couldn't believe that anything on earth or otherwise would make him try to take Starsky's life His love for him was that deep – that strong and he had been certain his partner would take a bullet for him without a blink of hesitancy. Why had he found him himself in a twisted reality?—that horrible day on the island—Starsky's brotherly love turned into murderous hatred against him?

Somewhere he had heard that people under the influence of hypnosis or an induced state of mind couldn't be made to do something against their will…

Had he hurt Starsky somehow? A joke gone too far? Or harsh words from him could have gotten under his partner's skin? Hutch almost preferred to believe he was the one at fault—the cause—the catalyst…than to think…

Starsky tried to kill him.

That's crazy talk, Hutchinson. Why would Starsky want to kill you?

Why!

Why!

Why?

That was the thought that kept creeping up behind him... If he knew the answer maybe he'd feel better-- safer? 

Hutch looked around… he must have been walking in circles because he was only blocks from his house. The old abandoned gazebo near the beach-not open to the general public He often came there to read or think. . The security guard hired to keep out trespassers, well aware Hutch was a cop, never hassled him for hanging out there. He heard voices nearby but saw no one.

What time of day was it? How long had it been since he had run out of his apartment—abandoning Starsky. Time- once again, had played a game of hide seek. He felt sick. He would have hurried back to his Venice Place home but knew his unsteady legs couldn't support him.

The heat started somewhere deep inside his gut - spread rapidly like it had all the times before--seemed to race from various parts of his body to its destination- -his neck. Soon he wouldn't be able to breathe and Hutch jerked his head back to gulp in the air that he so deeply needed to sustain him through the complete and utter loss of control. The tingling fire inside--seeped onto his cheeks and met the sweat that had started to drip down his sideburns.

It was fear.

And it was irrational.

Certainly not the same thing Starsky had accused him of-- rational fear.

His friend had wanted to get him to admit that there was a reason why such a thing existed. Why Hutch should be fearful of him.

Hutch's analytical mind could not accept that.

Starsky wasn't trying to hurt him.

Hutch wasn't afraid of him and wasn't afraid of no voodoo doctor.

He just had to get this fear under control.

Breathe.

But he could not.

He gasped repeatedly, his hands crept up to his chest --pleading with his lungs to have mercy.

"Hutch?"

The hand that touched him made him shudder and he frantically backed into a wall to escape it...

"Hey. It's all right." The words Starsky usually spoke to bring comfort--now they terrified him. Irrational as it was, he couldn't stop from eeking back raspily at him, "Don't touch me! Just...d-don't…" He put up an elbow to halt his partner from moving closer.

"It's a panic attack." Starsky said to him.

"What!" He sounded angry. He didn't want to -- but he did. He just wanted Starsky to keep his distance.

He needed to breathe.

"Listen to me-- Hutch. You gotta sit-- sit down..."

"NOOO!" Hutch told him, "I can do…" as he continued to hyperventilate.

Starsky watched him slide down the wall to a heap on the ground. Keeping some distance, Starsky crouched in front of him.

M'okay. OK." Hutch said, steeling a brave front as he squeezed his eyes shut to the man who was his best friend.

"You're _not OK_, babe."

Hutch pulled his arms inward… shrinking almost into a ball.

_A grown man_—the blond-haired man berated himself, trembling from fear of something he needn't be afraid of.

**-oo-**

Starsky had jumped in the car to look for Hutch—not knowing he'd find his friend within walking distance of the apartment.

But the dark-haired man was just happy to have found him and glad that he had his car.

After the attack--- Hutch had allowed Starsky to help him to wobbly feet. _Like he could __have made a run for it_ -- Starksy thought to himself.

He looked a mess-- and the dark-haired man had stopped himself from enfolding his best friend under a guarding arm. He couldn't cross that line of teetering trust Hutch was extending him so instead he kept a conservative purchase of his friend's wrist, splaying a few fingers onto Hutch's palm...steering him back to the car.

Hutch looked red with embarrassment and the remains of the blasting panic that had crumbled him moments earlier.

They sat there.

Finally, Starsky started the car-- but not slipping it into gear. The seconds ticked off as both men were still--petrified as beached driftwood. Absent of any overt signs of life.

Starsky felt more than saw Hutch's hand slip with uncertainty onto the passenger door handle.

"Uh-uh." He ordered. "I'm gonna take you back to your place." Not allowing Hutch a chance to decide otherwise, Starsky shifted into drive and steered the car onto the city street.

**-ooo-**

After that, Starsky didn't bother Hutch anymore. He didn't have the heart – certain that the sight of him made his partner sick. As it was they weren't supposed to be talking while the investigation was ongoing—it was easier to put that up front as the reason why Starsky kept his distance. He had already hurt Hutch too much. 

-**ooo-**

**(tbc)**


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you "CHOKING" readers... i love ya_

* * *

He wanted help… but the question was what kind of help could anyone offer him to blindside the bogeyman. Something unnatural had happened on that island—and Hutch, even in his most analytical calculations, couldn't come up with an explanation that made any sense. He and Starsky had seen the face of malevolence…been in its presence – drank from its cup. He didn't believe in possession and the calling up of spirits from the depths of hell. 

But there was good and so there was evil.

Maybe that evil was just one person's deliberate passion to reject all things pure…or things of good report… anything of virtue…anything just. Maybe all of the Bokor's spells were created by his own belief that he could do such things. Maybe…

But how could one dark soul's vision inspire enough vehemence to make

Starsky try to kill him?

Would hours of psychoanalysis help him make sense of it? Was there a way out of the nightmare? Hutch didn't think so.

All he had was the devastating memory of the horrible attempt of Starsky trying to strangle him.

There was no way to whitewash the truth.

There was no good… no virtue in the act perpetrated against him.

Still –he was conflicted. He wanted…needed to believe in the strength of the bond between them. As much as his mind tried to make him see Starsky's assault for what it was—an attempt on his life--- Hutch's heart wouldn't

accept that deduction. His chest ached…beating out a protest for Hutch

to follow it's lead. Starsky loved him more than anyone on earth was the mantra it pounded—over and over…

There was no one to talk to…to tell them about how he was struggling…how much he hurt. His mind and heart locked in battle...

_**He tried to kill you…**_

No-- he loves you…he wouldn't hurt you…

_**hates you-tried to kill you- you were there – you saw the look in his eyes…**_

… no Starsky loves me—my best friend…my brother..

_**no he's not-- he tried to kill you—he tried to kill you…**_

**-oooo-**

Huggy didn't have all the details of how the Bay City Police Department was going to deal with the "incident" of violence between two of their detectives. He did know that none of what had been done had helped Hutch at all. If Dobey or his bosses thought keeping his friends separate was going to help the situation they couldn't have been more wrong. Both Hutch and Dave would suffer from the ridiculous ruling and the skinny man let Dobey know how he felt about it. He made a visit to the large man who had little patience for a "street hustlers" interference in police matters—and actually had told Huggy that on more than one occasion. Huggy though, was surprised to find--- that after spewing out a nearly two minute speech which concluded that the decision to separate the friends must have come from men who had the complete and combined intelligence of a horse's posterior---Dobey was nodding his head in silent alliance.

"Amen." The Captain said, sitting back in his chair he also added, "My sentiments exactly."

"Well..." Huggy stared back – a bit lost for words. He had expected Dobey to pouce on him and throw him out of his office. "So…ahh... _you agree_?"

Dobey jumped in to explain, "Look-- I don't agree with their decision. But my hands are tied. Right now…Huggy... I'm at a lost. Both of my boys..." He just sighed and so did Huggy as he took a seat in a chair nearby.

"_This investigation_, "Dobey clarified with disdain, "It's out of my hands… I can't do anything to stop it. One detective's assault of another officer …It's all up to Internal Affairs. _You think I wouldn't put a stop to this if I could?" _

Huggy studied the question and the helpless sad brown eyes that were looking at him.

"Sorry. Man." Huggy said. "I guess—I'm just pissed off. This stinks to high heaven. If anyone had bothered to ask me—or even talked to Hutch and Starsky--- they would know this is wrong--- for both of them."

"I know that—_but_ I'm gonna tell you something else I know, Huggy. _Those two_ are gonna find a way to work it out…. I believe that with all my heart. Yes I'm worried as hell about the damn situation…. But like I said… my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do."

Huggy's shoulders slumped. Dobey couldn't help his friends.

So Huggy continued taking care of Detective Kenneth Hutchinson. He also reached out to Hutch's partner. Making nearly a dozen calls to a missing-in-action Starsky—left countless messages on his answering machine. He had driven by the shorter cop's home a couple of times after closing up the bar—Starsky was holed up inside. Huggy could see the flicker of a TV being viewed in a dark room but the barkeeper couldn't make the walk up the front stairs. It wasn't like he was the bearer of any good news.

It made him sick. What had happened to men who were his brothers? Huggy thought about what Dobey said—

—_I know--those two are gonna find a way to work it out… I believe that with all my heart._

Huggy decided – he would believe that to. Until then—Hutch was in his care. Until life was back to normal.

The order from Internal Affairs that Starsky and Hutch no tot have any communications between them was certainly a major issue--- but the biggest problem at the moment was the investigator IA had assigned to the case.

The irritating Officer Simonetti had a Napoleon complex and Starsky and him had rotten history. Some beef, no one quite knew the _where, __whys,_ and _hows_ of… Maybe—Huggy thought - maybe it was just primal.

When the skinny bartender had asked Starsky about it one night a few years back after witnessing a heated exchange of insults between them—Starsky had growled, "I just don't like the guy. He's heartless. Gets his kicks torturing other cops --like some teenage bully." Huggy had left it at that.

Putting the squeeze on Starsky was likely going to bring untold pleasure to one Officer Simonetti. In Huggy's humble opinion, it seemed like the annoying short cop was biting at the bit to put Starsky behind bars—or at least fired from the police force.

The way Huggy had heard the story told—Simonetti had been instrumental in getting the brass to take the case seriously---and pushed for the commissioner to mandate the partners' separation. He also was the one to throw the words "attempted murder" into the mix. Without his campaigning in the background to pursue criminal charges, the top cops might have just trusted Dobey to determine if there was something to the assault. The not so impartial investigator claimed he didn't want to give Starsky and Hutch any opportunity to consult and come up with some contrived story. How was a person so focused on taking Starsky down supposed to run a clean investigation? The man could care less about the condition Hutch was in.

It was obvious to Huggy that Simonetti was going after Starsky and using Hutch in his broken state to do so.

**-ooo-**

The caretaker took his job seriously. He was trying to stay out of police business but he knew he wouldn't let the badgering go on much longer.

Officer Simonetti had showed up at the Venice Place apartment unexpected and aggressively demanding Hutch's cooperation with the investigation. He needed to ask a few questions he told Huggy, who had answered the door. The skinny man had suggested to the officer to leave and to only return after he had the decency to call and set a time to interview Hutch.

But the blond-haired man had heard the exchange and told Huggy to let the IA cop in.

Huggy hated to do it--- but he moved out of the rude man's way. Now he wished he'd slammed the door in his face.

Simonetti took a seat next to Hutch on the couch and within minutes lit into the blond detective with the ferociousness of a well-trained attack dog.

"It's not a pretty picture, Hutchinson. You got to see it up _real_ personal." Simonetti said jabbing a finger almost to the point of contact with the bruising on Hutch's neck.

"_Your partner is a maniac_. Pure and simple. It just took you a little longer to find out what everyone else already knew."

Huggy watched his friend's eyes squint back his disdain for the man in his face.

Simonetti crowded the object of his full attention, adding mockingly. "_You know_, whose to say--- he won't try it again. _You think you're safe_? Man – you're wrong." Flicking a thumb in Huggy's direction, he said. "Think this skinny lowlife—is gonna be able stop him..."

"Jus…stop." Hutch uttered, bringing a hand subconsciously to his throat. "Stop."

Simonetti got louder, the veins in his neck bulging revealed his frustration. "_Then_ _sign it!"_ He insisted as he fanned in the air the statement he wanted Hutch to swear to. The one that said Det. Kenneth Hutchinson believed Det. David Starsky had tried to kill him.

"_Just--- sign it, Hutchinson!"_

"I-I'm not gon...I'm…not signing that..I…don't remem-"

The heated man cut off Hutch's weakly spoken refusal…"Well, I'm getting tired of this. _Why? Why are you defending him?_ You're a cop, man. I used to think you were a smart guy—but…you're acting like idiot—he's got you fooled—big time. You're just gonna let him get away with it? Until he hurts somebody else… how you gonna feel then… huh? Make him pay—sign it!! Or are you stupid…"

Simonetti's verbal thrashing had zapped all of Hutch's strength and Huggy saw his friend's head drop wearily in the opposite direction of the paper Simonetti was aggressively flapping in his face.

Huggy stepped up, working his way in between IA officerand Hutch. "Look, man –you're getting awful personal. I thought this was supposed to be objective. Why are you attacking him like that? If he don't want to sign it--he' don't _have _to sign it! The dude told all of you he don't remember nuthin'."

But Simonetti pushed the barkeeper aside with a dismissive shove. "Hutchinson? _Do it, man_. I'll have him behind bars before sunset! You're a fool if you don't—_hear me?"_

Hutch struggled to get off the couch. To get away from the verbal assailment.

Huggy saw it coming. Hutch was reaching his crisis level. The blond cop stalled as he stood—his eyes sent out the cryptic message. Terror was in them.

"Back up!" Huggy said to Simonetti, keeping his concern focused on his friend, who has now sucking in air like he couldn't get any.

The IA investigator countered. "I hope you're not interfering with my investigation," as he gave a butt of his shoulder to the bartender.

"I mean it." Huggy stared him down. "_Back up!"_ he said, as he made a gentle touch to Hutch's arm. "Hey man, what's wrong?"

The black man took charge. "Get out of here." He ordered, pointing a finger in the face of the short mean cop. _"Now. OUT!"_

"Fine. I'll be back, though." Simonetti stated as Huggy eyeballed the man while he gathered up his paperwork.

Hutch slipped away from view.

As soon as the investigator was gone, Huggy hurried to the locked bathroom door. "Hey, man. You ok in there?" He inquired with a tentative knock. "Hutch?"

**-oo-**

Seeking a hideout in the small room had been a major mistake.

Hutch felt entombed. It didn't help stall the twisted and twirling ride of emotion and doom pulsing through him.

"Yeah." He called out weakly to his friend standing on the other side of the door.

And then, "No." To the request from Huggy to let him in.

A person locking themselves in the bathroom meant they wanted privacy—although he could have made the same statement by seeking such refuge in a much larger space like his bedroom. He hadn't put much thought in making a run for it. Hutch just saw the opportunity to get away from the cruel taunting of Simonetti—who under any other circumstances, Hutch would never have welcomed into his home. The guy was an irritating ass a hundred times over.

If Starsky had been there…

That thought drilled its own brand of horror through him and he stopped walking the circle he had unconsciously committed to from the moment he had flipped the lock on the door.

He reached out to steady himself, and knocked some toiletries off the sink onto the ceramic tile.

The crash startled him and he jumped. The sound must have startled Huggy too because his tone turned demanding as he continued to tell Hutch to come out.

"G-go home." Hutch answered shakily. His cheeks flushed with the familiar heat. "Shit." He mumbled.

"What!" Huggy called out.

"Nuthin' Jus go home, will ya?" There was no way the blond-haired man was going to give his friend a peek at the meltdown he was about to have.

Maintaining one's manhood was hard work.

Hutch's male ego was as healthy as the next guy's. He wanted to look good, smell good. In fact, he had found a little shop in Chinatown, where there was an old man who mixed up a special blend of essential oils, grasses, spices and smoky woods and bottled it just for him. A scent, the old man claimed captured the true essence of Ken Hutchinson. His wardrobe--- definitely spoke to his individuality. He didn't mind surprising people with an embroidered linen shirt or a well tailored camel-colored leather jacket. Kept a decent cut in his hair. Wasn't vain—but he was mindful of staying in good shape and had a habit of eating right which his parents had enforced on him as a kid. He didn't need to spend the day in front of the mirror to know he wasn't bad looking. He was pretty aware that people noticed him. Also that they looked to him for leadership. He had been deliberate in choosing a life and a career that put him in the position to help other people. Hutch wanted to be the kind of person people could depend on. A person that was strong in belief, body and work ethic – he believed himself to be a good man.

Now--- what would those people on the job who respected him _or_ the criminals of Bay City he wanted to fear him think if they saw him now? Wouldn't they all get an eyeful? One of Bay City PD's decorated sergeants cowering in a bathroom. Barely able to stop a whimper. It was ridiculous.

Hutch wrapped his arms around himself. He needed air… more air…

and he was in a small room--- no window…no air….no oxygen –

He shook angrily at the pathetic sight he made in the medicine cabinet mirror…. Pathetic and weak.

….and scared.

_Scared of what? Damn it, Hutchinson._

Starsky was nowhere in sight.

What was generating so much terror in the tiny space? _The sink? Toilet?_ Hey maybe it was the shower curtain—he cruelly mocked.

The blond-haired cop couldn't stop what was coming – he'd have to go through it to get on the other side of the attack.

He groaned pitifully and let it happen. It was the only way.

When it was over he found himself a lump on the bathroom floor—washed out and pale, sweat soaked… red-eyed…wasted..

Not a very honorable place for a man.

Huggy could knock and yell until doomsday—Hutch wouldn't let him see what he'd become.

A pitiable sight.

**-oooo-**

"_Huggy?"_

"You gonna let me in or what?"

"Yeah sure—even if you're the rudest visitor I've had today." Starsky responded, although obviously tentative about letting the unexpected intruder into his trashed abode.

Huggy stepped over a small hill of mail to enter. "Looks like I'm the first visitor ever," he commented while his head did a 180 degree sweep of the piles of books, dishes, and clothes that scattered the apartment of a man who had been shut up behind doors for far too many days.

"Another shut in," The bartender mumbled.

"_What's that?"_ Starsky was already aggravated by his new guest.

"Look—you gotta do something." Huggy got to the point.

"_Do something?_ About Hutch?" he deduced instinctively.

"_Yeah__ Hutch!_ _Who d'ya . . . __think I'm taking about?"_ Starsky wasn't the only one who was aggravated.

"Huggy." Starsky, in clothes rumpled from days of wear, was getting angry and loud. "_**Why are you coming here—you know I can't**_** do anything**. I'm not allowed. Anyway, I tried to talk to him—asked him right out to go to a shrink—the both of us. He won't do it."

"Oh yeah—so you just gonna leave it at that. His protests never stopped you before…"

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_ Starsky was angling for a fight.

"He's bad, man is all. You're over here on some _self-induced guilt trip_…and he's over there…" Huggy, emotionally spent, shook his head in distress.

The dark-haired man picked up on the futility in his friend's demeanor and softening, inquired, "What's going on with him?"

"He's hurtin' man--all the way around. He won't listen to me--like he would you. I can barely get him to eat...he's shut me out. So, while you're here having a pity party-- _I don't know how to handle 'im_. He's stubborn and you're bull headed--- You guys are gonna drive me crazy."

Starsky touched his friend's arm to express his appreciation. "Sorry Hug."

"_Yeah… well that and a new suit wouldn't get me a Monday night date." _

The comment did get a smile from the cop before he said, "Alright, alright. Gotcha. What else? There's more?"

"Of course there's more! IA vultures, nightmares, closed doors…"

"Wait. _Nightmares?_ About Playboy Island? _About me?"_

Huggy gave a stiff nod—not wanting to confirm the truth. "_Look_, he ain't talkin' about em'. _He's_ acting like it's no big deal. But I can tell it's--there's something else—I don't know…"

"_What are you sayin'?"_

"I can't explain it. He gets---antsy. Looks like he's …I don't know—_scared_. Like Medusa just showed up and he's the only one that can see her. I know that don't make no sense – but somethin's gettin' to him and he freaks—then locks himself up in the bedroom or bathroom. Sometimes I had to leave him like that— _a bar don't run itself, you know." _He added with sarcasm.

"Ok _OK_." Starsky said, chewed at his lower lip as he contemplated the situation. "Alright. No more pity party. _What d' you got?"_

"What do you mean--what do _I _got?"

"You burst in here, Hug—make a grand speech. Now you're on the inside. You see him everyday. What do I need to do-- to get to him? Fix things, _What!"_

No easy fix. For sure, Huggy thought. The skinny man shrugged. "I don't know, man… but I know when somebody's in trouble. And our bro is in it deep."

The nightmares Hutch had tried to keep to himself--Huggy had been discreet enough not too mention to the blond-haired cop that it was _he_ who had been bedside most evenings to quiet him. Not just so the detective wouldn't damage his vocal cords but also because he was deeply fond of the officer.

Seeing Hutch suffer silently about his neck and Starsky's absence was hard.

And it was excruciating watching Simonetti beat Hutch down with proclamations of Starsky's twisted personality and Hutch's naivety. Too blind to see what others knew all along. Hutchinson's partner was a loose cannon-- a danger to his fellow cops. Then the IA cop ran down a list of minor infractions on Starsky's record—making him sound like a beast a burden.

Hutch had been too sick to fight off the bulldog investigator. Huggy saw him try to. But-- the recuperating man didn't have a voice to defend his best friend…and what he also didn't have was a reasonable explanation for Starsky's action.

_You see… there was this Bokor…_

That comment might just get the blond-haired cop committed to Cabrillo State.

"Look--Starsk." Huggy said. "I don't know man. Just do sumpthin'--and do it quick _Hear what I'm saying?"_

"_I hear you." _

The bartender could almost see the determination ignite in the dark-haired man's face. Before leaving he told his hermit friend, "And ah--you might wanta pick up around here—_looks like a pigsty_."

The rustling sound of a magazine flying through the air was a welcomed sound to the fleeing black man.

**(tbc)**


	6. Chapter 6

"You gotta, Cap'n!" The detective demanded.

"_Starsky."_ Dobey commanded his officer to cool off.

"You gotta make them back down from this investigation.

"_Really_. And how do you suggest I do that?" The superior went on mocking by creating the unrealistic scenario that would facilitate such an event, "_Right_. I'll just waltz into the Chief's office and tell him that--you two boys had _a little chat_ and decided to _make nice_ now-- lets just forget _all_ about the attempted murder charge, Sir--_could we pretty please?_ _**Humhp**__!"_ Dobey grunted roughly for emphasis.

"Cap'n-- I mean it. Hutch—is the one at stake, here. Only ones that can work this out is me and him. Every time I try to get with him--we gotta wonder if one of those IA goons is gonna appear outta nowhere. They've got no right to try and block..."

"_**They'– ve**_ got _ev'ry _right Detective!" Dobey gruffed loudly, his end-of-the-rope aggravation showing. "Dave…you don't get this, do you?"

"No -- Cap'n, excuse my ahh--lack of confidence in the system — and my insubordination but-- _you don't get it_. I'm--I'm _not g_onna sit back anymore and wait for them to railroad this … mess down me and Hutch's throats…" Just speaking the word—_throat_—made him grimace and took the gust out of his wings. The still unshaven man collapsed into a chair. He looked up at his boss with a pitiable expression. "Help me." He pleaded. "I just need you to help…"

Dobey was moved by Starksy's desperation. It made him realize just how worn out and weary the cop really was. Quite a sight actually. And not a good one, Dobey thought.

His friend was asking for help.

Harold Dobey had distanced himself from the horrid misadventure of Playboy Island --both mentally and physically,

He was ashamed of the way he had quite deliberately tried not to imagine what was going on in Hutchinson's mind. How he avoided the blond-haired cop -- sending Edith over on his behalf instead of visiting his detective himself. A chicken move—but he couldn't deal with seeing the injury—knowing how close the men were and how near Hutch had been to death. The heavy set man had been in Starsky's company on a few occasions—but not as a friend—only as his boss. All of this strange behavior from Harold was mainly because he couldn't find one comforting word to offer Ken or Dave.

People hadn't talked of such dark things in his youth and some of that tradition was still in him.

But these were his officers… not some strange old lady on the block.

Suddenly Harold Dobey got angry.

He was tired – very tired himself of the way IA was handling the whole unfortunate incident. He wasn't quite sure of how he was going to - but - he _**was **_going help Starsky _and_ Hutchinson. Enough was enough. It was his job as their boss to fix this problem somehow. There wasn't any ill intent that had been the catalyst for David being compelled—summoned by outside influence to try to strangle Ken. It was— a power—_powers_ that neither he nor IA could ever hope to confront or explain. A force of malevolence couldn't make a witness statement or take an oath to tell the truth and nothing but.

_No _--no investigation would give anyone the answers they all were looking for. Certainly, the fact that Starsky had been given some kind of drug was evidence enough to put an end to the inquest. Hard evidence existed but was being ignored because of that weasel Simonetti trying to make more of it. His motives for doing so, Dobey didn't quite have a handle on. But he did know that the lab had never even been able to ID the substance that was coursing through Starsky's blood at the time of the assault.

Dobey went into action mode.

He went to the Chief _and_ the Commissioner. Threw his considerable weight around, gave an ultimatum, and brokered a deal for his boys. He could hardly believe that his bosses went for it. The threat of walking away from his decades-old job of police captain--possibly creating mass confusion and upheaval in the well-run Bay City Police Department had a lot more to do with them agreeing to halt the IA investigation, than their support of two of their best officers. Didn't matter to Harold. He got what he came for. Wasn't going to leave without it anyway. He owed his boys that much and more.

Dobey had done his homework… using previous cases of undercover cops who had been slipped a mickey – which happened more than the general public might be aware of. Drugs were often used as a weapon against cops-- especially ones who had their cover blown. There wasn't one case on record of any police officer being penalized for egregious behavior under those circumstances, the captain pointed out to his bosses.

Miraculously, Harold's well-prepared presentation and ultimatum took down the IA charges against Sergeant David Michael Starsky, who, during a police investigation, was drugged by some local thug. _Any of his actions under the influence of such drug,_ Dobey stated, _could not be used to prosecute him._ Anyway, no one meeting in the commissioner's office on that day, being more than familiar with the officers in question, bought the story that the dark-haired cop would have tried to kill his partner otherwise. Drugs-- _had _to be the reason for such an attack.

It was just a matter of how to move forward—cautiously.

The top brass, their backs to the wall, did have some demands, though. Sure—they'd call off IA, but they insisted Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson stay off the roster until they both received a full round of psychiatric counseling by the department's own in-house shrink. Neither one-- would return to duty until the doctor provided them with a full report that met both the Chief's and the Commissioner's satisfaction, stating both men were mentally stable. The records regarding the incident would be sealed at that point.

They also wanted the cops to stay apart until they cleared it with the lawyers—making sure the city and police department couldn't be sued if another incident of violence occured. That—Dobey declared was impossible to enforce. He'd tell the detectives of the Departments' concerns about their interactions facilitating more violence and advise them that those were the wishes of this committee, but the captain told them--he'd be wasting his breath laying down such restrictions

"_Those two wouldn't follow those guidelines at gunpoint!" _He bellowed at the screwed up faces of his superiors. His last words to them on the subject before exiting.

**-ooo-**

"That's the deal, Starsky."

"_It stinks…_" the cop whined, digging both hands into his dark curls.

"That's the deal—_and you're gonna take it!_ I put my butt in the ringer for this. I don't want hear any arguments about it."

"Captain—an IA shrink is the same difference as an IA investigation… "

"Detective—_I mean it_. That's the end of it!"

"Sir, no disrespect --I don't trust this. _Dr_…" Starsky said, looking down at the name written on a piece of paper Dobey had just passed off to him. "_Dr. Anga-Angeline Benjamin?_ Bet she ain't never been a cop. It's just business as usual. An IA psychiatrist is gonna put everything me and Hutch _might tell her_ in a file that will end up right in their incoming mailbox. _Why don't they just sit in our sessions?_" He added smugly.

"Dave…" Dobey pleaded with him.

"I don't trust her and neither will Hutch. _Besides_-- he won't do it."

The large man waved his hand in frustration. "_**He **_doesn't have a choice and neither do you--not if you're planning on keeping those badges you two have worked so hard to get."

Starsky defused sluggishly.

"_Besides_," giving Starsky a dose of his own medicine by echoing the word, Dobey got up from behind his desk to make his point clear. "I told you, David the records on this case are as good as closed. Nobody- _nobody-._'cept that idiot Simonetti, believes that you wanted to hurt your partner. You asked me to help and I've done that, son. This is a good deal. My advice to you is to take it--- _and_ I suggest you convince your partner to do the same." Encouraging any contact between the men was blatantly ignoring his bosses wishes.The older man hoped his office wasn't bugged.

"Fine." The detective grumbled as he stormed out of the office.

Dobey, smiled to himself. He knew even though it didn't look like it at the moment--David Starsky appreciated what his boss had done. It would just take him a few more days _or_-- weeks to realize it.

The older man understood exactly how David felt. The wound was still fresh for both of his officers. It wasn't easy to trust some psychiatrist-come-lately with a direct line to Internal Affairs. But-- right now Dobey was just going to hope that the doctor would be able to handle his boys and most importantly--help them.

Tired, but determined, he grabbed up his car keys. He was on his way to Ken's house. Dobey needed to handle this face to face. He'd get the blond-haired man in that counselor's office even if he had to throw the officer over his shoulder and cart him there himself.

The large man was grinning. Things were finally looking up again. It was a great day.

**-oooo-**

Starsky plopped in the chair… crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I thought Dobey told you the whole thing," Starsky answered with aggravation.

"I want to know what _you _think happened out there."

He unfurled his arms to put an elbow on the table. "The _point_ you're missing is that my best friend in the whole world thinks I chose to act out some hidden ….aggression – took advantage of being a little off my rocker to make him pay for some unforgivable…" Realizing he was revealing something to the psychiatrist, the frustrated detective stopped talking.

"Did he tell you that?" the woman doctor asked.

"He don't hafta tell me that."

"And you think being possessed by a voodoo priest makes it sound much more plausible?" she commented.

Starsky angrily leaped to his feet. "I don't' know what happened! But I know I wouldn't hurt him—for nuthin' --_alright_. Why can't anyone get that! Sure—we've had our spats here and there. Nothing—you hear? Nothin that would make me want to do…" Reaching across the dark mahogany desk, he grabbed the folder she kept neatly tucked under her hand and flipped through the papers until he found what he was looking for—a picture of Hutch's injuries, "…_that._" He found himself staring her down, thrusting an aggressive finger in her direction.

The doctor sat back, "I can't help you wage spiritual warfare. That's not my area of expertise. If you're telling me—you don't want to work at finding out what the source of this anger is that you have …"

Starsky turned and exited before she could finish--slamming the door shut behind him.

The psychiatrist stood… reorganizing the Detective Hutchinson's file, she said to herself. "That went well."

**-ooo-**

Dr. Benjamin tried to keep her eyes on those of the man slouched in the chair in front of her. But no matter how she tried, apparently fascinated by the injury – her brown eyes found themselves right back on it.

The officer's sorrow was obvious. He kept hold of a small remnant of the collar of his shirt—attempting to block her curious stares. A very bizarre dance of her gazing at the wounding and him hiding it ensued. She thought it strange he'd tried to cover the bruising—when it was the injury in his intense blue eyes that was much more telling.

She waited for him to answer her question. The same one she'd posed to his partner the day before.

The doctor had patience and the session was for the full hour—so she could wait for quite a while if necessary.

"_Sergeant?" _She softly reminded him of her presence.

"Ummm." A very pale Ken Hutchinson offered as he stirred restlessly in the chair.

"What do you think happened?" She didn't mind repeating the question. The IA psychiatrist hoped he would answer and shed light on the peculiar series of events that lead one friend to brutalize the other in such a violent way.

Two officers of the law. Best friends, too—according to what she'd read in their files.

There had been a trace of an unidentified substance in Detective Starsky's blood—not enough, in her humble opinion, to give him a pass on attacking another human being. She was trained to look for the hidden reasons behind a person's behavior--to dig deeper. At the moment she was focused on the tall stressed out man in her office.

"Sergeant?" She attempted again to get him to speak.

The cop dragged a hand through his hair. Some of the blond strands took offense—and remained unruly – created a strange halo as they stole some- brightness from the overhead light. He coughed lightly.

"Water?" She suggested. The doctor made her way over to the silver pitcher nearby and poured him some. She stood over her new patient. Handing the glass to the officer, she kept a close proximity —choosing to lean comfortably against her desk--facing him she said, "I saw your partner yesterday. You guys have been talking—that's against the rules, you know. IA wouldn't like it."

"Screw IA." He ground out. He slouched a bit more to confirm his disinterest in the session and her.

_Oh--__he does talk_.

She smiled a little, before moving to sit back behind the desk. Angeline watched the man she was supposed to be evaluating, take a few careful swallows from the glass she'd given him.

"You're not going to make this easy. Are you?" She asked him.

He sighed almost in apology and sat up to place the glass on her desk.

"_S' been a rough week."_ He gave a sad turn up of a corner of his mouth.

The officer was being sarcastic, but the harshness of his voice—reminded her that he probably was still having pain.

"Well, why don't you let _me _tell you what think I know?"

He gave her an unimpressed nod but she smiled at him anyway.

"You and your partner were on assignment and you…had one of your ahh..._snitches?_ From Bay City with you? _Hmm?"_ She looked through some paperwork_. "Yes_. He's the gentlemen outside? Isn't he?" The doctor was very curious about the skinny "brother" that ogled her while he gave the blond-haired officer a friendly push into her office. The Nordic-looking cop and the urbanite of questionable reputation made an odd pair.

"Huggy--yeah." The detective answered, looking impatiently toward the door.

The slight movement must have elicited some discomfort, because she saw him get tired right before her eyes…and he groaned a bit as he sat forward.

The doctor jumped up to tend to him. "Detective, are you in pain?"

He waved a shaky hand to confirm, that yes he was.

She hesitated to continue.

He groaned again and awkwardly stood up.

"Are you taking anything?"

The detective squinted back at her.

"_For pain?"_ She clarified. "Let me order something for you."

"Nuhh," he gritted.

"Let me help you." The doctor showed her concern as she moved closer, causing a new round of dance between them, as he immediately responded by taking an unsteady step away from her.

"Okay, then." She said softy, watching him struggle to beat back something that looked very much like emotional distress.

"Ken?" She asked. _"Please_, let me help you?"

The watery eyes of the officer slid in her direction and some of her professionalism buckled at the sight of the hurt in them.

Men were always the most difficult to help. Time after time, cops at the end of the rope would be sent to her for one reason or another—and she would have to try to get through to them. To make them feel open and trusting enough to talk to her.

They never thought they needed help.

She waited for him – watched him swallow down—what she thought looked like…_fear_.

Detective Starsky, Ken's partner, had stormed out of her office. It was looking like Kenneth Hutchinson was going to make a run for it, too.

Doctor Benjamin started talking, using her best nurturing voice -- hoping to retain the officer's attention.

"This is a very unusual situation. Isn't it, Ken? I'm not sure I've had ever had a case like this one. I can tell you and Dave are very close and this whole--- _thing _must be very difficult for you to deal with. I mean-- he's not sure…_why_—and I can tell he's most regretful about it…"

Her effort to distract him paid off when she heard him quietly respond to defend his friend. "S-Starsky wouldn't…w-wouldn't hurt me." The cop was still struggling with his emotions.

"But," she pointed out carefully, "He did. That's very confusing. I would imagine it's not easy for you to accept that…he did. _Hurt you_." She took the tiniest step toward him.

Dr. Benjamin studied his body language—a hand protectively clawed at the top material of his shirt…right near the collarbone and the tall man appeared to shrink inward.

The doctor continued, "I have a few best friends…and quite honestly I don't think I could easily get over…"

"Look lady, you-you're not me…kay?." His weakened voice countered defensively.

"OK…so you don't need to know _why_ he tried to…" She quickly decided to not use the words _kill_ or _strangle_…"hurt you?"

He gave her an aggrieved shake of the head—a refusal to deal with her suggestion of self-examination. His attention flitted to somewhere else in the room.

More telling body language. _Yes,_ of course he hurt. But was he ready to admit that? Probably not-- the doctor concluded. Not just yet. She needed to bring him to the place where he could accept certain truths. She'd have to do the same for David Starsky. There had to be something in their history that explained the attack.

There was no way these two men could serpentine around it—and go back to life as they knew it. They would have to confront and deal with what had happened.

One friend had tried to kill the other.

Her job—was to get people to deal with reality and then live with the truth.

**-ooo-**

"You, know doc—you got good intentions--it's your conclusions that stink," the dark-haired cop stated flatly. "When it comes to me and Hutch—_you don't know your elbow from your_…"

"Detective…" She cut him off.

Starsky got a good pout going and stared deliberately at a spot on the wall behind her.

The psychiatrist continued, "You can't do something like this—without a reason…_drugs or no drugs_. There's a kernel of truth that's the root of all behavior. Why can't you be honest about it?"

"You ever had a best friend? _One you'd die for? _Without even thinkin' about it?" he asked her.

"I don't know what that's got to do …"

Now it was Starsky's turn to cut her off. "_Exactly_," he said. "How can you evaluate somethin' you don't got a clue about?"

These two men were wearing her out. One alone would have been too much – but together? Headaches after their sessions were becoming a very common occurrence.

Hours earlier – she'd seen the blond-haired one of the duo. She still had their session fresh in her mind.

Ken Hutchinson hadn't looked very good that day—not at all. Thin, pale and shaky. Of course she offered him _sleeping pills, pain pills, mood enhancers_… but was met with solid resistance. And not just resistance about the meds. His still gravely voice was getting stronger and he used it to tell her almost exactly what David had just said—only with a few more words.

"I'm not going give you what you're looking for." Hutchinson schooled her on how he felt about her involvement in the situation. "You got a lot of books," the detective said, running a finger over a collection of her medical books. "Humm, he added thoughtfully. "You think one of them will tell you what to do with me? You got a section on _black magic_ _and things that go bump in the night?_ _Tales of evil-- sticking up its head to scare the shit outta you_ .Bet ya don't have even one paragraph about it. Cuz if you did—then we might have something to talk about."

"That's silly," she had responded without thinking.

He got a look of deadly seriousness. "Even now I'd take a bullet for him. _That make sense to you?_ So what--_I'm crazy?_ Is that it, doc? Some kind of masochistic obsession—that's what one of your books would tell you. Isn't it?"

He stopped, spent a moment in deep thought before he continued, "There's gray areas… that's me and him. Me and Starsky. You just don't understand…"

She saw him tear up, but and was amazed to see the police sergeant use all he had in him to not let the water escape his troubled eyes.

"We're done today, " He had said softly and snatched up his jacket as he left her opened-mouth and emotional. She nearly jumped at the thundering slam of the door.

The chance of the session with David Starsy ending on a high note—the possiblity of him reflectively contemplating her words as wisdom for his life – was more than unlikely. Not with the current expression self-amusement he had locked on her. He must have been reading her mind, she thought. Cops had that uncanny ability—fine-tuned by hours of interrogating the guilty. The dark-haired officer knew on this day-- she was off her game and that somehow he had contributed to her frazzled state of mind.

Dr. Benjamin searched in her desk for the bottle of aspirin. The dark-haired man was eyeing her curiously—almost smirking. That's what it looked like – a smirk.

"I have allergies," she lied, swallowing down three of the tablets with some water.

"_Hmm."_ The detective's sardonic response implied that he knew the real cause of the pain in her head.

"You know what," she countered crisply. "Why don't we just pick this up next time." The doctor was dismissing him.

"Sure, doc, _your allergies_. I understand," he said as he kept his mischievous grin on at full power.

"Great," she replied, shooing him out of her office.

Sighing loudly, the woman with the pounding headache let her forehead drop onto the desk. She never let patients get under her skin like this--but she was human. Two weeks of getting the run around from the two officers was working all of her nerves. Especially when she thought about the pictures of the horrible bruising on Ken Hutchinson's neck. Attempted murder…battery, assault, attack-- those were the words that came to mind.

Not love.

Not in a healthy relationship. Why would Hutchinson try and cover for Starsky?. Were they lovers? It wasn't the first time she had wondered about that.

Did the blond cop have something in his past that made him seek out abusive relationships? Or Starsky a history of abuse in his?

Then—there was all the other stuff. Things she wouldn't let herself even consider as possibilities. Words Ken had hinted at--like—black magic, voodoo --_roots _some called it.

She slipped the clip off her black hair and pulled a mirror out of her drawer.

Circles—under her eyes… circles! Her caramel colored skin—normally flawless—looked dull. Between that and the growing dark half moons under her eyes—Angeline decided she looked nearly five years older. Maybe she should pass this case on to someone else.

She poked a finger into her compact and dabbed some of the sienna-tinted makeup onto the dark discoloring under brown eyes. It wasn't much help.

Dr. Angeline Benjamin was the first one in her family to go to college--first doctor--maybe even the one and only. She worked hard to get to where she was-- not a person who gave up easily—or ever. This new case was pushing her to the limit, though. She was the only black woman in her class at the small, but highly accredited medical college she got her doctorate from. Angeline knew about challenges.

Angeline Benjamin had wanted to help her community so after graduation she came back to Bay City to work at a clinic in a neighborhood close to where she had been raised. Angeline did that for 4 years before she realized that she would never pay off her college loans at the pace she was going. The doctor had made good connections while working with the city to provide mental health care to some of its poorest. Those connections steered her to her present job with a practice of psychiatrists who just happened to be contracted by the Bay City Police Department to provide counseling and psychiatric services to their over worked, and heavily-burdened officers.

Her current job paid her handsomely—her debt's nearly paid off. She had a nice hi-rise apartment downtown. A fairly new car—closet full of well-made skirt and pant suits. She was doing quite well for herself. Angeline, who had become a doctor to help the poor and unfortunate members of society, often times felt guilty about all the money she was making and all the things she was buying with it. Early on Angeline had wondered if she had sold out taking a job counseling cops.

But Dr. Benjamin soon realized—Trauma was trauma. It manifested itself in a police sergeant the same way it did in a 16-year-old run away. The specifics could vary but the effect on the body, mind, and spirit were always the same. A person in trouble needed help—and ultimately that's all she wanted to do as a doctor. Help someone in need.

Detective Kenneth Hutchinson was in need.

_But--Voodoo?_

**(tbc)**


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry to those reading for the delay in posting-- had some computer/internet problems-- and just mentally exhausted. This chapter is a bit longer-- I hope that makes things ok- 'tween us...lol_

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Dr. Benjamin had not seen or heard from Sergeant Ken Hutchinson for several days. She didn't want to have to call IA on him. The woman doctor had even thought about asking Captain Dobey to intervene but had decided against it.

She was troubled about the officer and the case and the way he had expressed his frustration about her not finding any help for him in her medical books.

What really troubled her though, was the fact that she actually was _more than familiar_ with those things that moved under the cloak of darkness.

She knew maybe too much about them.

Her family had more than a few stories, repeated in hushed voices about her Great Aunt Tia and the man she married 30 years ago. The man was famous. Royalty to some folks. In Haiti he was a man most feared and revered because of the powers some claimed he possessed. The story went that the marriage distressed Angeline's great grandfather so much, that the he tried to stop it. Only, the night before the old man had planned to kidnap his daughter Tiamaria—he had oddly committed suicide. Died by his own hand.

That was only the beginning of the long list of stories--_history_--of folks who had the misfortune of getting on the bad side of the newly married couple. Eventually the Haitian man disappeared from her great auntie's life but not before Tia took up the practice of the old-world rituals of voodoo. Became a priestess—and was still one.

_Auntie_, as Tia was called after she reached her forties, visited them regularly when Angeline was young.

The future psychiatrist never liked the woman. There was something about her that gave little Angeline the creeps and also made her physically ill. Whenever the woman, always dressed in rich-looking fabrics and elaborate pieces of gold jewelry, surprised them with a visit, the little girl would suffer. Upon her arrival--It was like the very house got cold- everyone wore their heaviest sweaters—and their thickest socks. There were always furtive frighten glances between the adults in the family—who made sure Auntie Tia was well attended to. Honored her with expensive gifts of the strange woman's most favorite things—clothes, food, flowers, perfumes, jewelry, and small exotic animals.

But each and every time Tia showed up—Angeline became deathly ill. She'd vomit, have awful body aches, and spike a fever. And then, have terrifying nightmares to boot. She'd experience the unexplained bouts of illness on every visit until one day her grandma took the young girl to a priest, who prayed for God's protection over her. Oddly enough after that, Auntie never visited them again.

Dr. Benjamin had deliberately chosen not to include those kinds of stories in her personal bio. But all of it was coming back to haunt her—now since the case of the two Bay City cops and the incident on Playboy Island had ended up on her desk.

It was unfair for her, _of all people_, to dismiss both detectives' tales about a Bokor—and the power of such a man to make horrible things happen to good people Still, even if there was some real voodoo in the mix—it didn't dismiss the fact that there was fear, hurt, and pain there, too –

Those were the things the doctor knew for a fact she could help to heal.

That was why she had been sitting in the car in front of Sergeant Ken Hutchinson's Venice Place apartment for nearly half an hour. It was clear now what she had had to do.

**-ooo-**

"_I told you doc—I was finished talking_," he said angrily as he proceeded to close his apartment door in the face of the woman who had just rung the bell.

She poked her head into the slight opening.

"_My people are from Haiti!"_ Angeline shouted through it.

The action to shut her out stopped and Hutch positioned his whole body in the doorway, towering over her.

"I wasn't completely honest with you." The doctor admitted. "I know there's…. _there's things that go bump in the night."_ She repeated the words he had spoken to her several days ago before storming out of her office. "I believe --_something_ unexplainable could have happened between you and David—that doesn't mean _for a fact_ it was voodoo or bad magic—I'm not saying that. And I'm not sure how all that factors in…" She told the cop who hadn't showed up for his appointments or returned any of her phone calls.

"Doc…" He shook a head of castigation at her. She shrunk under his hard stare.

"Well now, this is an unexpected turn—all of sudden you believe. Why now? After all…all you…put…us…"

She cut off his chastisement, "_Look_, my great aunt—supposedly was a priestess of some kind. A deep dark family secret—_you know_. Nobody talks about it. _Please_. I'm – I'm sorry…and I-I want to help you." She said with enough sincerity to make him move to let her in the apartment.

"So… will you let me treat you?"

"I don't know if I can trust you-- keeping secrets from me like that." He sternly scolded her.

"You can trust me." She gave him a smile of apology, and he gave her a deliberate inspection as he thought about her proposal.

"I'm almost disappointed. Maybe it would be better to hear me and my partner are just nuts," he finally replied.

"I'm not ruling out you're both nuts just yet," she humored.

"I can't believe you put me—_and Starsky_—through all that psycho-babble analysis." He shook his head at her as he guided her into the living room.

"I'm really sorry about that. I just want to be a good doctor. Allowing your patient to put forth a-voodoo-priest-made-me-do-it-defense for some outrageous behavior—is really frowned on."

Hutch arched sympathetic eyebrows to express his understanding. "Yeah—it's all pretty crazy. So what now, _Dr. Benjamin_?" He offered his couch for her to sit and plopped down next to her.

Angeline asked, "Can you _honestly_ tell me – there was no malice on David's part in this whole thing? I mean – don't you have _some feelings_ of uncertainty about it? "

He clammed up.

She pressed on, "Because _I think_--- _that _is what is fueling your panic attacks. But if you aren't willing to tell yourself the truth about that--they just aren't going to go away… not until you deal with it".

He frowned. "_What do you mean?"_

"What I'm saying--is that I want to help. But no matter what it was that caused David to try and strangle you…"

Hutch gave her a harsh look. "You just can't stop goin' down the same road, can you?"

"Well, that's what happened, Ken. He tried to strangle you—that is exactly my point. It is-- what it is. I'm willing to admit that I believe—_voodoo_ – something evil is at the root of this—but you have to be willing to make a few admissions, too. No matter what initiated the attack –your feelings about it are very much real—take my word for it. _Ken_ that's why I'm here--to help you with those—your feelings."

The doctor looked at his hands. He had nice hands Angeline thought—and recognized once again, one of the partners was making her have an unprofessional thought. _His doctor_ shouldn't be thinking about how nice it might be to take one of _his _in _hers_…. and before she realized it she was slipping her much smaller hand into his.

He turned to face her. Giving her a slight appreciative smile he squeezed her hand affectionately, and let out a breath. "I guess I…I guess—I have trouble dealing with it. _OK?_" he told her.

The cop's expression turned serious. A few quiet moments passed.

His eyes were closed. But she knew he was ready to talk to someone.

"So… _tell me_," she said.

"Sorry, I was an ass the other day," he softened to apologize.

"That's alright. I wasn't much of a help to you."

"No you weren't," he tried to joke before he looked in her eyes to tell her, "I'm not afraid of him… it's not like that."

"I know," she said.

He sighed heavily. "It's what he became—_that's not him_. Starsky's the best guy I know. Best friend-- I've ever had. _Closer to me than my own family. _I_ won't _hurt _him. You understand?"_ He spat the words out with fire.

"I understand." The doctor was agreeing to honor that relationship—so that the detective sitting next to her could trust her.

"No I mean it, _Doc--d__o you really get this_…"

"_Yes Ken, I get it. I really do_," she promised. "I do. I'm not trying to make your best friend the bad guy here. He's important to you. I can see that."

Confident he had made his point, the blond-haired man dragged a hand through golden hair and let out a calming breath so he could continue. "_Maybe_ it's like waiting for the boogey man-- like when you were a kid hiding under the covers. I- I can't get a handle on what it is _exactly _that transports me right back to that island. The sounds… the smells…_But _I know_ Starsky isn't the cause of this." _

"Let's just say, for sake of argument, you were back on that island—was there anything you would change?"

"_Are you serious?"_ he asked sardonically.

"Outside of the whole event—I mean--_while it was happening_. Was there _anything_ you think you _said or did_ that escalated the attack? Or did you have any feelings like guilt, remorse—or_--- anger?" _She spoke the last word with emphasis –carefully directing him to disclose his hidden thoughts.

He sat up, taking back his hand to rub self-consciously on the jean material covering his legs. "You've got a one track mind, doc."

"Well, I'm just painting--_re-painting _the picture for you. Huggy said he found you lying on your back and that David was straddling you—his hands were…"

"I know!"

"So, do you remember anything before you blacked out?"

_There was the smell… the sea salted air and fragrant flowers…a beauty of a day_

Angeline kept up with her questions, "You must have some memory of the assault—"

She watched him close his eyes and could almost see the tension rising from him as he listened to her. She also felt the slight shudder from his thigh that butted against hers.

"You were both there on the beach together- - just you and him. Am I right?" She kept her voice even in the hopes he wouldn't get upset and end their conversation.

"Yeah."

"_And the night before?"_

"Hmmm?"

"What happened the evening before the assault?"

He bought his hands together nervously twisting them as he reflected back. "Night before--_pretty strange_…we had a run-in with this local ---Papa Theodore and his people. _His followers_ --is more like it. I don't remember a whole lot about the '_party'_—but there was this strange ceremony going on and me and Starsk-- were the—ahh-- _expected guest_. I don't think we ended up faring too well--cuz we started the next morning washed up on the sand-- like crabs the tide left behind. _Very weird_." He hesitated. "For just a minute--I was scared he was dead…"

"_David?"_

"Yeah." He paused as if to honor the mere mention of such a disaster occurring. "You know we were trying to get to Thorne-- William Thorne, _you heard of him?"_

"_Who hasn't--_ the man's got more money than some small countries," she stated.

"Yeah… so the story goes. That's why we were there—to get him off the Island. We got briefed about the fact a lot of folks connected to the man were dying-- under mysterious circumstances. There were quite a few rumors about why that was-- _and then there was Thorne and his money _in the middle of it all.We were trying to get to him, his nurse---umm- Sheryl. _No _– it was---_Charlotte_. Yeah—Charlotte-- she was working with us when that damn voodoo priest made his surprise appearance."

She noticed his voice, affected from injury, still sounded gruff, but her patient was finally talking to her, so she went on with her questions. "You guys made it back to the hotel, though?" Angeline remembered that detail from the somewhat sketchy statement David Starsky had given IA investigators.

"We did," he confirmed.

"What do you remember after that?"

"Just waking up the next day and Starsky said he had a dream Papa Theodore had closed – umm-- _Starsky's thumb_-- in a box." He raised one of his own thumbs as a visual.

Hutch stared straight ahead and Angeline tipped her head to study his far off expression. "_Ken?_"

"He had a—a…" The cop's focus was lost on his thoughts of what had happened on the island.

"_Ken?"_

"Huh? _Oh_. Sorry—he had a—Starsky had a pretty bad headache and complained about this pain---_in his thumb_. I was worried about him--- he was acting strange. Kept saying how much it was bothering him. And ahh-- he was in a bad mood…because of his headache and the thumb. But…we-- we were working the case…yeah…we were...working…"

Angeline watched his demeanor-- gradually morphing from 'relaxed' to 'man under duress', but she continued questioning him. _"When did it change from working the case to an attack on your life?"_

The detective didn't answer.

"Ken?"

"_Don't ask me—can't tell you. Papa Theodore could give you the answer to that one,_" he retorted snappily.

"Ok," she said calmly. "Just go back to what you remember."

"He…just jumped me…that's all. It's not that complicated."

"Your partner jumped you. There was some physical stuff. A fight --I would imagine_. Wouldn't you?"_

"_Fight?"_ Hutch's voice sounded distant and uncertain.

"Yes. Protect yourself--y_ou didn't try to?"_

"_What?"_

"_Did—you—try – to—protect yourself?" _

The doctor watched it build.

Her patient swallowed hard, drawing in a huge amount of air through his nose and blowing it back out of his mouth just as quickly. She heard him take another deep breath and he was on his feet.

"Shit!" Hutch grunted as he started backing away from her. "Oh…shit."

"Oh no—you're having one? _Right now?" _She reached for him and he shook his head ferociously for her to stop coming toward him.

"N—noo," Hutch warned her.

He lost his battle to stop the attack and Angeline witnessed his near complete breakdown. He was hyperventilating. The strong-willed man who stood just a few minutes earlier blocking her entry to his apartment was gone. Her patient looked lost and terrified. All his coloring had taken flight and his bleary eyes frantically searched the room for whatever doom he must have felt was so near.

"_Hutch,"_ she said in a quiet, firm voice.

There was a gentle knock at the door and the doctor whipped her head around at the sound.

"Don't move," she cautiously instructed with an outstretched arm. "Don't go anywhere." Dr. Benjamin kept an eye on the anguished officer while answering the door.

The worst scenario…

The person at the door would be David Starsky. She held her breath and opened up to find the curly-haired jean-clad detective.

He looked stunned to find her receiving him.

"He's ahh—having one of those attacks," she told him. The words sent the alarmed intruder flying into the room.

The panic-stricken cop's eyes widened at the sight of his partner and Hutch nearly tripped over his feet to get away from his concerned friend.

""Go—g-go there," Hutch told him, pointing to the kitchen. "T-t-there."

But Starsky, overwhelmed with worry wasn't having it… "Nope," he answered as he stood his ground but stopped moving.

Angeline came to stand next to the curly-haired cop… both of them completely entranced by the man before them.

Hutch tried to maintain his control, but wasn't able to hold back a wave of burgeoning terror.

Both of the watcher's were pained to see the look of helpless horror that took over the blond-haired man's features. It was more than obvious Hutch was just as terrified that these two people would be witness to what he had tried so unsuccessfully to hide from everyone. The flustered detective was unraveling before them.

"It-It--will p—pass," he stuttered as he felt for the wall behind him.

"_Hutch."_ Starsk made a careful step forward

"_NOOOO_ – stay – stay there," Hutch demanded as he kept a palm out to protect himself from being approached.

"_Stop – stop—stop this_," Hutch muttered angrily, scolding himself.

"_Hutch?_" Starsky tried again.

"Damn it, S-Starsk. No—can't you –just—just stay there…please…stay..." He dropped his head downwards --slowly lifted it—tears sprinkled his lashesand he asked them, "W-why ..why is this happening…can't breath—can't…"

Starsky attempted a smile," Sure you can, partner. _You're talkin'_-- _you're breathin'_, Blintz. You just need to try and be calm and let us…"

Starsky took another step and Hutch scrambled-- moving quickly to get further away from him.

"Ok_—Ok_." Starsky announced as he got down low, supporting that position by sitting on his heels—and motioned for Angeline to do the same. She quickly adhered to his direction and knelt next to him. The doctor really couldn't argue, it was good thinking to take a less intimidating posture.

"We'll just wait right here, partner," Starsky assured him with a soft-spoken promise.

Hutch stiffly nodded his agreement to that proposition and tightly closed his eyes as tried to stop his hyperventilating.

"Ken—are you dizzy?"

Another abrupt nod was his reply.

"Listen to me..," Dr. Benjamin offered. "…you should sit. Put your head in between your legs and – I'll talk you through getting your breath under control."

He gasped repeatedly…walking blindly into another corner.

"_Ken,_" she said with an authoritative tone.

"_What--w- what!"_ The distressed man was not able to follow her instruction

"_Sit."_

He pulled at his shirt--drawing a hand up to his throat. "C—c—can't breathe," he insisted.

Starsky, unable to continue to watch his friend suffer, made a move to get him.

Angeline's hand moved to stop him. "_No_… she said." That's the worst thing you could do right now."

She didn't have to offer further explanation.

Hutch's eyes searched the room for the unseen terror. He groaned loudly.

Starsky grabbed her arm and sadly told the doctor, "I'm goin."

"You don't have to," she replied.

"_You see 'im_—it ain't' helpin' me being here." He dropped his head in defeat. Starsky gave her hand a gentle pat. "You stay." It was both a request and an order. Slowly rising to his feet, he gave Hutch a long look before leaving the place he'd always been welcomed in the past.

Hutch watched the objects around him lose their shape, blending into a swirl of nauseating color. Each beat of his heart pulsated in his ears and sounding like a dull drum shut out the words of logic that Angeline was speaking to him. It didn't matter what they were—the words couldn't get through the cloud of terror that separated him from her. His head felt weighted as it was drifting backwards- destabilizing his legs, which sought something solid under them. He tried to blink away the blurring world as he reached for wall or chair – anything to keep him upright and the little dignity he had left intact.

He didn't want to continue to give in to the urges to cringe in a corner like a pitiful frightened stray dog—whimpering for a place of mercy.

"I'm m-man…s-shouldn't let this happen…" he said shakily.

"It's not about you being a man," she told him. "Your mind is trying to find a place of healing. All these attacks are just alarms to let you know that there's a problem going on inside you. Feelings that you're not dealing with. Your psyche won't let you try and bury it."

He growled, and kicked over a small table in frustration.

"Ken… you have to let it surface."

"There's nothing there! I don't know what you're talking about. I'm _not_ scared of him! How many times…" Losing the furor, he closed his eyes and shook his head-- unconsciously showing his refusal to dig deeper into his well-hidden fears.

"_I shouldn't have done that to him,"_ he said woefully.

"What about what you're doing to yourself?'"

"Spoken like a real shrink." He sniffed as the attack slowly began releasing its grip on him.

"Well I am certified," she joked lightly

"Certifiable," he told her, trying for levity.

The doctor waited a few minutes and then retrieved a glass of water for the recovering man. She watched the shaky officer regain his composure.

"Well…"he said, "So…am I gonna live, doc?" He gave her a sad smile.

"What you have isn'_t terminal_—probably feels like it though." Showing her empathy she saddled up next to him. "There are just some things you have to face—deal with. Ken, you can't run from it anymore, You understand?"

"Yeah. But—_what else can I do? _I don't know how to do what you're asking." He searched her face for the answer.

"I know how--- _we can get to it_—since you won't let it out," Dr. Benjamin stated.

He squinted suspiciously.

Angeline still saw fear underneath his attempt to maintain his stability. She smiled warmly, silently assuring him she would be there to help.

**-ooo-**

He wasn't surprised Hutch was at his door at 5 am-- had expected it.

'Hey," Hutch said nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he searched his partners face for any hurt. Hurt-- he'd put there.

"Hey," Starsky answered, curls still flat on one side from his slumber. Ushering, Hutch into his apartment, the dark-haired man rubbed the sleep from his face. He wanted to be alert for what Hutch had come there delete to tell him

"Hey, ya Blintz sit down will ya?" he told the early morning visitor.

"I'm sorry…" Hutch blurted out holding out his apology with open hands, seeking forgiveness.

"_Sorry_? You got nothin' to be sorry about, buddy." Starsky told him. "C'mon,' he offered the seat next to him on the couch and Hutch readily took it--elbows on his knees he peered sideways at the friend he'd just rousted out of bed.

"I can still see the bruising," Starsky told him

"_Starsk_…"

"No – I can. Don't know when I won't see it," he added sadly.

"M-me acting like a scared eight-year-old isn't doing much to get us through this." He sounded disgusted with himself.

'Hey- don't do that. You had good enough reason to feel that way---"

"Angeline says—I'm blocking something…" Hutch revealed to his best friend.

Starsky was surprised to hear affection in Hutch's voice and immediately slipped into teasing mode. "Hmm—she's kinda cute, huh?"

"Gordo—she's my doctor."

"Yeah—one who makes house calls." He nudged his blond friend. "Our sessions don't go that long," he joked lightly.

"_Starsk_…" Hutch tried unsuccessfully to admonish his partner.

"You guys'd make an interesting couple. All kiddin' aside—I think she likes ya."

"You think?" Hutch asked.

"Uh—hhmm."

Hutch sighed, "I just want things to be normal again—with me and you--more than anything."

Starksy nodded he understood and said, "Well, we got take it one day—_you know_—at a time. You're still my best friend in the whole world."

"I know that," Hutch said, water rushed to fill his blue eyes.

Starsky's resolve broke. "I'd never—_I'd rather cut my arm off,_ Hutch I swear…"

Hutch shushed him, "I know—_I know_."

"We'll work it out partner—trust me?" Starsky was asking a profound question and they both knew it.

"With my life." Hutch said. The solemn sincerity in the few words made Starsky choke up.

They sat for while not talking. Not too long after that Hutch fell asleep, his head rolling over to rest on his partner's shoulder.

Out the side of an eye—Starsky closely examined his friend. Hutch seemed untroubled enough—his slightly opened mouth a sure sign he was getting some good sleep. Starsky didn't want to wake him, so he remained still. Following his friend's example, the dark-haired man nodded off too.

-**oo-**

It had to be at least 8 a.m. from the amount of light outside spilling through his curtains. Starsky thought about going back to sleep but there wasn't enough cooperation from any part of his body. Not even his eyes would follow his instruction to stay closed. The left one kept a critical side glance on Hutch's relaxed body and monitored his partner's face for signs of stress…anxiety…_panic_.

Hutch showing up and spending a few hours napping on his shoulder was a good thing. But was it a signal of the end of the era of terror they were currently co-existing in? Starsky didn't think so. The look on Hutch's face the night before was one Starsky just knew he'd see again. What was the private hell that Hutch was keeping so closed mouth about? It was hard for Starsky to help him when he was the one responsible for sending a panicky out-of-control freight train through Ken Hutchinson.

Last night Hutch had run from him like a kid with a deathly fear of circus clowns. Now his blond-haired partner was sleeping, quite comfortably in fact, on his shoulder. Wouldn't IA love to see the two detectives camped out on the couch together.

Starsky thought about how Hutch; a two-fisted-hard core cop—crusader of street justice who could terrorize even the hardest criminal on any given day--- had been blessed--more than most guys---in the looks department. They both had--at least that's what the ladies told them. But up close—sleeping like this—no trappings of manliness to hide it-- the pure essence of Hutch was laid bare. The tough guy part of him tucked away for the night. This was the look that Hutch's women got all moon-eyed over, Starsky guessed. It wasn't the first time Starsky had seen the completely vulnerable sensitivity of his partner up close—

On this morning though, Starsky felt particularly in good fortune to see it. After all that had happened on Playboy Island. Hutch was still Hutch. Still Hutch with him…still his partner…his best friend…

Starsky felt an urgent need to protect him somehow—ready to give whatever demon had followed them back to the mainland, a get-out-of-town-by-sundown-exit-visa back to Playboy Island. Uproot it with his bare hands if he had to. But the dark-haired man also felt reassured. There was still something solid – a foundation under them—even though the house around them had suffered some damage from the tsunami the Bokor had unleashed on them. They were--repairable.

Hutch stirred sleepily.

"Hey buddy… you wake?" Starsky couldn't help but ask.

Hutch half mumbled a word and nestled closer, content to use Starsky for a pillow. The smaller man's arm was getting a little tingly—but even if it went numb—it was a small price to pay for the quiet peace of the moment.

Ten minutes later Hutch peered through a partially opened eye…and told him "I'm too tired to be embarrassed."

Starsky chuckled lightly. "Well, I did take a few pictures for the squadroom bulletin board." Then getting serious, he made a request, "Hutch, tell me about the nightmares."

"Why?" Hutch said tersely.

"Cuz I'm askin'" Starsky stated.

Covering up a yawn, Hutch said, "Don't you have your own?" Creating some distance by sitting up, he stretched out his long legs.

"_Hutch,"_ Starsky persisted.

"Fine--they're scary. OK?"

"Details."

"You and Huggy been talkin". I shoulda known he'd …"

"Look—_he _ain't the topic," Starsky butted in. "_C'mon,_ buddy--I wanna know about your nightmares."

"_Why?_" Hutch balked once more, attempting to block his friend's interrogation.

"_Cuz I'm askin'_" Starsky said again, slightly annoyed that Hutch wouldn't share with him.

Hutch sighed. "Creepy voices and … things I don't wanna talk about," he said while massaging fingers into the muscles of his right shoulder.

"Will you tell _her_… if you won't tell me?"

"_Her?"_

"_Doctor Benjamin_-- dummy"

"Starsk—I…"

"I mean it, Hutch." Starsky got up. "I'm gonna ask her--if you told her. It's important you tell somebody. _Promise me."_

Starsky was actually relieved –

He would hardly be able to take hearing Hutch tell him about dreaming of Starskys hands around his neck-- trying to kill him.

About Hutch thinking he was dying…

"Yeah sure," Hutch said without commitment. "You hitting the shower first—I'll make coffee or-- you want coffee duty?"

"You know you hate my coffee," Starsky told him as headed for the bathroom.

**-ooo-**

The dreams…

Hutch had tried to dismiss

Everybody had dreams--.good ones --

bad ones…

Having night terrors—was too cliché. For drama queens—attention seekers. He was tired of attention. He craved the return to the "simple" life of a street cop  
Anyway, it made him feel silly to admit that the darn things were starting to get to him…

The idea that a nightmare could boldly chase after him during the daylight and make him afraid to fall asleep at night—was just another one of the those things a _man_— wouldn't---_shouldn't_ admit to. _Not one_ who could flip a 200 lb. felon on his stomach and handcuff the man's hands behind his back. The thought of his mother or father seeing him in his current condition made him actually wince. He could see his father's face—a mix of scowl and worry.

His dad had been been clear on showing Hutch what a man was made of – hunter /gatherer/protector/ breadwinner /disciplined / committed to principle / a solid foundation for those weaker ones in the tribe to depend on. Nature designed it that way. So it was pure science—he was born a male and that meant all those characteristics were part of his genetic profile---unless….

--he was defective.

How could he even attempt to explain to his father that _Dr. Hutchinson's son_ was afraid of invisible demons and would let a dream—for goodness sake_— a dream_ _bring him down?_

But in reality …the replaying of bad things when he slept –might just be the thing that kept him pacing his bedroom at night. Causing him to fiddle with the familiar things in the room --to keep himself grounded. Seeking escape from them--_the nightmares--s_ent him on a mission to re-read passages from his favorite books. It had caused him to take a lamp apart--which he wasn't able to put back together. Was the inspiration for hours spent practicing chords on his guitar. Anything—_anything_ that would his keep his mind busy and his body from asking for bed rest.

Because…

once Hutch crawled into bed and lay his head on the pillow—he would lose control of his life.

Delivered back into the hands of Papa Theodore…and the tropical hell of his "vacation" on Playboy Island.

Huggy, in the beginning – when he'd come home from the hospital—had mentioned to him that he was concerned that Hutch wasn't sleeping restfully.

He hadn't even been aware of the nightmares. Only that he was tired—a lot.

Once he woke up to find Huggy fretfully calling him as the skinny man forcibly shook him into wakefulness.

Huggy made claims that Hutch had been screaming …and crying…

How much more could his ego take, Hutch had thought.

Crying!

_Crying?_

He waited a day or so before dismissing Huggy from his new part-time job as mother hen to one of BCPD's finest and was hoping that would be end of the conversation of _Hutch and his bad dreams_.

He didn't remember them when he woke—but still their vividness stayed with him during the day…

Nothing he couldn't live with, Hutch had decided. So what if snapshots from the nightmares flashed pictures in his head throughout the day?

Certainly at some point that would stop and life would go back to normal.

No one had to know anything about them…

But apparently Huggy wasn't just a snitch about … the criminal underworld. Obviously spilled his guts to Hutch's dark-haired partner---dishing out details about Hutch's private pain--_probably for free_, Hutch thought smugly.

One thing about his friendship with Starsky—there was no keeping secrets…none for him and none for Starsky – who kept watch over him like a bulldog. It would have only been a matter a time before Starsky would have been putting the pieces together. Hutch's paleness exponentially multiplying to match the dug in black circles under his eyes--the shuffle in the his walk showing the weariness in his spirit--- after all Starsky knew him better than anyone ever had. It was just a matter of time before the dark-haired man would demand some explanation.

How could you not love a guy like David Starsky? Hutch was trying to protect Starsky, too. That was another reason why he hadn't discussed the problems he was having sleeping to his best friend. Starsky was still coming to terms – living his own kind of nightmare—as he tried to deal with what he'd done on that island. Hutch didn't want his best friend to feel anymore guilt.

He wanted to forget about the whole sordid mess and move on.

But still, he was tired-- very tired. And quite sure in the dreams--- the Bokor and his followers…were still having a party in his slumber. A twisted celebration of unimaginable wickedness.

Maybe he would tell Angeline about them.

**(tbc)**


	8. Chapter 8

There was a nice cool breeze and he liked the contrast of it and the hot takeout cup of coffee in his hand.

"This is a lot nicer than your dreary office," Hutch told her.

The park was fairly empty at that time in the morning.

"Maybe I'll just move my office to this park bench—_is that what you're suggesting_?" Dr Benjamin asked with mocked seriousness.

"Couldn't hurt," Hutch replied.

She sipped at her coffee and sniffed at the early morning frost in the air before asking, "I'm a bit surprised you never mentioned the nightmares before."

"Honestly—I didn't think much of them."

"I don't believe you, Sergeant," she said.

Hutch lowered his eyes to look away from her. "OK—that's fair. I- I don't know why I didn't tell you about them. I just want to get pass this… and Starsky's…he's doin' his best—I just wanta do my part…"

"Ken—your partner already called me. I know--. _He _told you to tell me_ or he would_—and I bet if he hadn't-- you'd still be harboring this little secret of yours."

He gave her a Cheshire cat grin, "Alright—guilty as charged."

The woman put her coffee down between them and opened up the little white bakery bag on her lap. " Hmm—_Cinnamon bun_—looks like it has raisins or _corn muffin?"_ She asked him.

"Ladies first," he offered.

Angeline pulled out the cinnamon bun, and carefully split it into. Hutch eagerly took his half and commented, "That was a well thought out solution, doctor."

"Yes, that's why I have the degree."

They both laughed.

"So-- you don't have any recollection of what you dream or memory of having the nightmares either?" She took a healthy bite of the pastry.

Hutch chewed, thinking intently before answering. "I think that's how it goes.Papa Theodore—he's in 'em. Don't ask me how I know that. But he's in there.I know they're scary—and loud. That's about all I can recall. I feel awful when I wake up most mornings--- and I assume that the night before I had one."

"Ken…" Angeline munched while she paused.

"What?"

"Ok--- I told you about my Auntie Tia that's her name- Tia…" She finished off the last of the shared sugary bun but not the sentence.

"Yeah." He shifted his body to get a better look at her face while she spoke.

"She used to…" Angeline hesitated as she continued to contemplate mixing her personal life in with that of a patient's.

The doctor was beginning to understand or believe that it was more than a coincidence that the case of Detectives Ken Hutchinson and David Starsky had been assigned to her--- her own life experience touched by the dark manifestation of spiritual warfare---

"Doc?" The blond-haired cop touched her arm. "Y'okay?"

She smiled back. "Hey— who's the patient here?" she attempted to kid.

He moved closer to her. "No jokes…what's wrong? You went somewhere. You alright?"

"I can't help but wonder..."

"About what?"

She reached for her coffee and the officer quickly picked it up to hand it over. _"What is it_?" he pushed.

"It's just very strange—that this case ---_your case--_ ended up coming to me… under the circumstances…"

He nodded. "I guess it is strange. The world's strange."

"Yes it is," she agreed. "I was thinking about when I was a child – my Auntie Tia used to appear to me—in my dreams. She taunted me---they seemed very real too and … I just don't get it…why our paths have crossed…in some weird _'voodoo continuum'._ Its like --- The Twilight Zone._" _

"Well, it makes sense you should be here."

"On this bench?" she asked.

"In my life," he said plainly.

They thoughtfully studied each other a moment, then he leaned over, touching his lips to hers. He slipped an arm around the small of her back, easing them both into a kiss of tender passion.

Then suddenly coming to his senses he pulled back. "Oh—Oh. I-- _Oh—geez_. I don't know what I was thinking. I - ah-- I guess I just complicated things even more. _Way to go Hutchinson," _he muttered, admonishing himself.

Angeline coughed lightly and reached for his arm… she was speechless.

Hutch groaned out his embarrassment. "_Stupid teenage move_. I'm sorry…_s-sorry_." And he moved like he was going to get up.

"Wait – wait," she said. "Ken—it was sweet—_really."_

"Ohhh, God." He shook his head, covering his face with his hands.

"No. _Really_. _It was_. There are a lot of reasons why that just happened," she said, attempting to explain his action.

"_You're going to analysis it!"_ he said fitfully.

She giggled and bumped his shoulder, pulling his hands away from his face. "Ken, please don't. It was nice, _really. If I wasn't your doctor…"_ Angeline raised a suggestive eyebrow and cut him sexy eyes to imply she would have been _very_ interested if the circumstances were different.

He let out a breath and relaxed, nodding his desire to let the incident creep into the past.

Angeline explained, "This work, psychiatry—doctor and patient. It's very intimate. You'd be surprised how many people get emotionally attached…"

"Oh—_so it's just routine_," Hutch said curtly.

He sounded offended and she clarified quickly, "I'm only saying it happens--_regularly_ and doctors have to be careful…"

"Right—I—get it. I know-- _it's your job_… I by no means…meant—I mean…I…" He stumbled over his reply. Flustered, he raked a hand through flaxen-colored hair.

"Oh no. No…that is not what I meant." She jumped in to make her point, "You and me—_no_—_not routine_. _Absolutely not. _Honestly this is more than a case—I mean you--_you--_ are more than a case…_Oh God_…" She groaned, feeling very much like an adolescent herself.

His eyes were twinkling when he said, "Doc, I think you're blushing."

**-oooo-**

"He's stubborn as a bull." Starsky told the two women. The three of them stood over the man in the bed.

"_Wha—y'aaall do-in'…here_?" he asked them, slurring the words of his inquiry.

Dr. Benjamin, touched the man in the bed and said softly, "You're supposed to be relaxing so you can sleep, Ken."

"_Don't wan sleep_."…he muttered groggily. The other doctor, Miranda Quinlin, a specialist in sleep disorders, pointedly studied the blond-haired man she had instructed to take two pills before the session. The pair of pills should have had the officer in a deep REM dream state by now.

Starsky shook his head and leaned over his partner. Gently patting him on the cheek, he scolded, "Hutch, you're fightin' it. Don't do that."

Hutch peered up at him through drooping eyelids. "Umm…Starss.. guitar..." he said. His head rolled as he struggled to stay awake.

"_What?_ _**No.**_ _Sleep_," Starsky ordered.

Detective Hutchinson sluggishly churned out leg movement as he tried to facilitate some kind of motion to get out of the bed.

Angeline shook her head. She and Starsky exchanged expressions of disbelief and affectionate aggravation, as the man they attended to continued to ignore their instructions.

"My goodness, Ken. We need you to let the medication do its thing."

Starsky rallied right behind her—the deep compassion in his voice, Dr. Benjamin hadn't heard from him before. She was touched by the sound of it. It was low, determined, desperate and loving – all in one, "_C'mon buddy_." Practically whispered, "_We're so close to fixing this – I need you...need you to listen to me now… Right." _

Hutch reached for him calling out softly, "Stars…"

"I know. _I know part'nr_— but we're gonna go through it. Just like we planned--- _right?_ 'Member Miranda--Dr.Quinlin." He pointed to the woman with long jet black hair.

Angeline had introduced the officers to the friendly-faced physician several days ago. The group settled on a simple plan of Hutch taking a sleeping medication to guarantee him reaching the level of sleep that would allow the nightmare to manifest itself. The expert in treating sleep disorders would question him about what he was seeing and hearing…notes would be made, and of course once the docs knew what Hutch was dreaming they could help him and everything would be right as rain. Simple. Should have been.

Hutch eyeballed her suspiciously and then recognizing her he relaxed, "Oh…righttt. _S-she's…Angel's… friend_." He muttered.

Angeline flashed a look of shock. "_Angel? How—how did he? Why'd he call me that?"_

Her alarm made Starsky look up at her and he shrugged. "Why?"

"Never mind," Angeline gave his inquiry a quick dismissal. "Let's just stay on this. If he doesn't go to sleep soon, we'll have to try again tomorrow--- give him a higher dosage."

The other doctor standing around the bed checked her watch and nodded her head in agreement.

And that's exactly what happened.

The next evening the two doctors and two police officers were all back in their assigned places and this time a more medicated Detective Sergeant Hutchinson was close to dream state.

At their first meeting, Dr. Quinlin had explained to the men the five stages of sleep and how she was going to be able to manipulate them by introducing a drug used to treat patients with severe insomnia. Tricking the mind with the addition of the medication, the drugs would put the officer right outside of deep sleep. This way, the therapist expected to be able to plug directly into Hutch's nightmares and with the assistance of harmless hypnosis guide him into and then out of the terror he experienced when he slept.

_Drugs, hypnosis_--Starsky had balked at the thought of Hutch being 'manipulated'. The taller officer was hesitant, but wanted to do something—_anything_ to accelerate getting a doctor to sign off on him being fit for duty and put him back with his partner on the streets. The somewhat unorthodox procedure looked like his best chance. Also trusting Angeline's recommendation of the therapeutic treatment, the blond-haired cop had agreed to it. Dr. Miranda Quinlin, having a genuine and sincere demeanor, made the decision easier. She reviewed the specifics of the several times.

Hutch would take a muscle relaxant and come into her office earlier in the day for her to begin the hypnotic suggestion. That would entail training his unconscious mind to respond to her instructions. It was important for her to be able to guide him into and then out of the manufactured REM state he would be in. Keeping things uncomplicated, they all agreed a count down from 10 would be the signal for both the beginning and end of the unusual therapy.

Just before the session, which would take place in Hutch's bedroom, a familiar environment, Hutch would take the sleep meds and Dr. Quinlin would again plant the hypnotic suggestion—the count down from 10. This would guarantee, she promised the detective, that she could at any point stop the bad dream she was hoping to bring to the surface.

Definitely off-the-beaten-path but feasible.

"Ken remember what we talked about. I'll touch your arm here." She reminded him of the suggestion she had planted earlier in the afternoon and then again a half hour ago--when the blond-haired man was in the second stage of sleep. Dr. Quinlin brushed her fingertips over the inside of his elbow. "Then we'll count back from 10."

"Uhmm," he responded, his eyes closed.

"I want you to think about your dreams---just try and relax." She patted his arm.

"Try," he mumbled heavily.

Starsky wrung out his nervousness through anxious hands. He looked at Miranda and she smiled at him and nodded to suggest that it was going well so far.

They waited a few more minutes and then Miranda started asking him questions.

"Ken, can you hear me?"

"Umph." He grunted and mouthed some more unformed words.

"We're gonna take a deep breath together. Can you do that with me?"

Miranda softy guided fingers down the inside of his arm and Hutch obliged her by breathing in deeply—his chest rising.

"Now… _slowing... out_…that's it," she said. "Good…we're going to count. Remember. You count with me. _Ten_."

Hutch's mouth moved but no sound came out.

"Ken, please count out loud with me… _Ten?_"

"Ten," he repeated roughly.

Dr. Quinlin smiled to herself. "Good. _Nine"_

"Nine."

"_Eight_," she directed.

Hutch's brow furrowed and he stalled.

"_Eight,"_ the doctor repeated with an insistent voice.

"Eight," he said softly.

"_Seven_."

"S-sev.."

"_Six…and you're just outside the door now_," Dr. Quinlin suggested.

"Six…mmm…door."

"_Right. Now you're going to open that door and step into your dream. Remember. Five."_

"Fivvv."

"_You're opening the door?"_

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"Good, Ken_…four..."_

"F-f-f-"

"_Three…now you'll step inside,"_ Dr. Quinlin instructed

"Three."

"_Two and…one…"_

"What," Hutch said in a much clearer voice.

Starsky shifted feet, letting out a anxious sigh and Angeline silently communicated with him not to worry.

"Where are you? Are you on Playboy Island?" Miranda asked him.

He shook his head and swallowed roughly before answering, "No."

"_No?"_ The doctor sounded surprised and gave Starsky and Angeline an inquisitive stare. They both shrugged.

"Ken, _where_ are you?"

He didn't answer and the woman with long black hair could feel the tension in the arm she kept under her palm, "Ken—_do you hear me_?"

He grunted. "Yes. Yeah--- yeah— hear…"

"Take a deep breath with me. You're in bed. It's night time and you've been sleeping for a few hours now."

"Sleep'm," he responded to her suggestion.

"It's dark and you're deep in sleep now."

His eyes moved rapidly under closed lids.

"It's quiet…dark… and you're dreaming…" Miranda continued.

"Dreaming…" he mumbled.

"Yes…you're dreaming. Not just any dream—it's _that dream_… and you're not going to let it upset you…take a breath and I want you to watch it from a distance with me. Alright?"

"Kay. Uhmm—there's lots of dream here…" he said softly. "W-Which one..."

The doctor, surprised at the observation, exchanged apprehensive glances with Angeline and a sick-looking Detective Starsky. It was obvious she wasn't expecting the response she had gotten.

"Which one are you drawn too?" she asked.

_He walked by the Bokor standing next to Starsky…and the dream that accompanied them. The one where the voodoo priest tortured him-- pricking him with thorns and deviate incantations while Starsky howled out maniacal laughter as the blood dripped down Hutch's arms and legs..._

_He stopped at a door – the one where the ocean roared behind it—knowing very well it was where he re-lived the strangulation. Where Starsky's face morphed into one of a wild boar—and drums beat out crazy and loud while the people danced around him---kicking sand into his eyes and down his throat… _

_And he passed all the others until he came to stop at the worst of them…_

_The mother of all nightmares. _

"_Are you there?"_ Dr. Quinlin asked.

He gave a sluggish nod.

"Can you tell me – in the dream, Ken—where you are?" she asked again.

"Umm ….Bay City…my apartm…" His voice fell off.

"Stay with me...Ken."

"I'm here---I'mmm…."

His body tensed under the fingers she still had guardedly holding on to him. "It's alright. Where are you in the dream?"

He moaned lightly and turned his head away from her.

"You are in your apartment?" she clarified

"Yeah…in…my….my…Venice…" he mumbled back.

"Ken--_Is there someone with you_?"

Hutch groaned. He frowned and all his other features joined in to show his displeasure in the question.

"_Who is there with you_?"

He didn't answer right away—and they waited.

"Starss here…" He slurred… "Starss."

He switched his head from side to side, and the doctor seeing the detective was getting distressed, gave his arm a squeeze.

Miranda whispered to the other observers, "Hmm, we're getting close to it."

Then speaking to her patient, she said, "Ken—something's upsetting you. Why are you upset?"

He shook his head. A refusal to share it.

'You can tell me--- _what is it?"_

"H-he's not --- it's…ohh…" He struggled.

"Ken--- please…tell us."

"It—it's-s… "he moaned, "…got..to..get--get get out… I cant. No!" He balled up two fists--his arms rigid.

She gently grazed fingers over the inside of his arm, "Let's count. 'Member…_ten_?"

"NO!" he called out.

"Ken." she countered with gentle encouragement. "Count with me. _Ten—ten_."

"Ten." He repeated weakly.

Then slowly in unison… nine… eight… seven...

He blew out a shaky breath. And Starsky not more that a few feet away let out one too. The dark haired man's entire being was fully riveted to his partner's labor to expel the misery.

"Ok." She rewarded him with more caresses to his skin. "We're going back to the dream…you're still there?"

"Yessss…" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"What are you seeing Ken?"

Losing his battle to keep his distance from the images he saw, the blond-haired cop let out a scared moan and a whimper slipped through it to reveal his fearfulness. He sucked in air and gasped out…"_It's here_…" he whispered, sounding frightened, "It's here. _Oh—Oh… No…no…no" _

"What is it? _What is it?"_ Quinlin demanded.

"Ohhh. No… Starsk…nooo…no…"

"Starsky is with you?" Angeline sought to verify.

"_S-stars_…. "

"Ken—Starsky is with you?"

"Yesss. Starskss s'here. It' s'got him! Oh no..no no no. _No!"_ Hutch shouted out.

"This isn't right." Starsky said quietly. Dr. Benjamin watched the dark-haired man rubbing unconsciously at the ache in his chest. His eyes were wet with tears.

Angeline assured him, "Dave, it won't be much longer. I promise."

"What is it? " Dr. Quinlin continued questioning. _"Ken?"_

"It—it has 'im--isss got him." Hutch said.

"_Who?"_ she asked.

"Its got him," he said with certainty. "Bokor's got him-m-m…"

"Papa Theodore." Starsky said, quietly identifying the voodoo priest's name.

"_Ken?"_

"_His-ss eyes…not Starsky's…like before…on the island… hates me…nooo. Oh God…_"

"Ken." she gently called him.

He groaned mournfully and then he was crying. "I'm-mm sorry…Oh God…"

Starsky, no longer able to keep distance between them, took a stand next to the bed to guard over his friend. "I want this over," he demanded. "_Just end it!_ He's had enough. Doc just bring him out of it."

"Shhh, David. We're almost there. "Angeline quieted him. She squeezed her dark-haired patient's shoulder. "He's alright. I'll stop it, _I promise_ if it goes badly." The protector's slouch conceded his momentary acceptance, but he gave the doctor a hard look to let her know he wasn't going to be quiet for much longer.

Miranda massaged more deliberately at the skin on the inside of Hutch's arm-- offering him comfort, "What's happened?" She asked the blond officer.

The long legs made lethargic movements to kick at the unseen terror. "Didn't…mean it… soorrry." he gasped back a sob-- gritting his teeth. Suddenly anger surfaced. "Damn!" He ground out curses of horror and injury.

"_Detective Hutchinson?"_ The doctor continued with her inquiry.

"He wouldn't stop… coming at me—I had to… Ohhhhhh. NOOO."

Starsky moved even closer to his best friend. Laying a hand on Hutch's thigh, he whispered, "It's alright," over and over again.

"I did .. I did it…I did it …I did it..." Hutch grieved under more tortured sounding sobs.

"Did what? Ken… _tell us_," Miranda appealed.

"Noooo." His mournful wail filled the room.

"Hutch." Starsky, leaned over him, trying to let his best friend know he was close by. "We should stop," the desperate dark-haired man told the women.

"I k—k-k –" Hutch stammered.

The caretakers shared more confused looks.

"K-killed him!" He spat out. I killed him. Killed Starsk…" The words shocked everyone in the room.

"Ken, It's alright." Dr. Quinlin told him, consoling the officer as she gently massaged his shoulder. "Please tell me--what happened."

"It came back—I didn' want to…Scared," He blurted out through a barely contained sob.

"Yes…you were scared," the black-haired doctor concurred.

"Couldn't go through…again… he…came at me—God…couldn't stop him…had to...had tooooo - _was scared_…" he cried… "Oh God..." His emotion exploded, shaking his body with its detonation.

Angry, Starsky confronted Dr. Benjamin, "_Shouldn't we stop_—Damn it! Look at him! Is this helping him? He ain't makin' sense-- that's not even what happened."

She saw the despair in his face and assured the dark-haired man, "He has to go through this." She took Starsky's hand to stop him from interrupting the session. "He'll be fine," she whispered.

"Ken, listen from ten—count with me." Dr Miranda gave Angeline a look of professional uncertainty. The african-american woman immediately responded. She sat on the edge of the bed, "There's a problem?" She asked her fellow physician.

"I think so--he's not responding to my requests." Miranda repeated her instruction to the blond cop, "_**Ken, listen from ten—count with me."**_

But he wasn't counting with her. "Killed him. UUUUhhh nuhhh…k-killed Starsk. Oh God…no… why…wh-hhy…Starsss…why'd…I do it …" He cried out the agony he felt over the admission, his body shaking.

Starsky practically pushed Miranda aside, He got a hand on the thrashing head and spoke firmly to his best friend. "C'mon, buddy. Listen to me. Come out of it…," he begged. "Don't do this. It's a dream that's all. Huh? _Listen."_

The words didn't calm the blond-haired man and Dr. Benjamin taking charge, gathered up Hutch's hand. She raised the volume in her voice, "_**Ten …Ten… Ken. Count with me,**_"she demanded.

"Killed him …I killed S-starsky…didn't want to…he wouldn't stop—coming at me…like before…Papa Theodore made him." Hutch groaned out his horror, choking on a sob.

Angeline pled, "Ken, _please _listen..."

"D-didn't want to—didn't want to…nuhhhh." Hutch cried.

"Cmon buddy," Starsky begged. "Count now… Ten…_**Ten..."**_

"Ten… Ken…"

Hutch whimpered and the people around him kept encouraging with words and their hands, trying to make him feel safe. Finally he heeded their petitions …

"T-ten," he repeated breathily.

"That's it…that's it, partner." Starsky gave Angeline a weary smile and a nod --acknowledging his partner's accomplishment.

"_I kill—kill-d…"_

"_Nine_. Ken---_Nine_." Angeline ordered.

"Nine." Although repeated, it could barely be heard under his stilted sobbing.

"_Eight_," Dr. Benjamin said with authority.

"Eight…"he choked out—his body settling down into lethargy.

"Seven," he offered on his own. His eyes opened and closed back under the heaviness of the sleep possessing him. Slowly Hutch was returning back to the restful state.

"That's it, Hutch." The worried olive-skinned man rewarded his partner—running a grateful hand down a tear-soaked cheek.

"_Ken—six_," Dr. Benjamin said.

"Sissss," he compiled.

"_Five_ – on one you're asleep – remember," she instructed.

He grunted lightly.

"_Four._" Angeline continued with the countdown.

He whimpered again, his brow furrowed showing his utter discomfort.

"Sleep buddy," Starsky directed.

"_F-our_" …she repeated to him

"F-fff…"

"_T-hree_…. _Two_… and…_one_."

He was out.

-o-

Starsky walked out of his best friend's bedroom in a haze.

All this time he had been wrong.

How could he have been so far off. Hutch wasn't afraid of Starsky hurting him---Hutch was scared of hurting Starsky.

"Knucklehead." Starsky muttered to himself, a mild grin showing the endearment he felt for his stressed out partner.

His best buddy had some mixed up stuff going on in that head of his. One thought—a realistic possibility and understandable one, was _what if_ Starsky did cross over to the darkside again to make another attempt at murder? What if number two—What if Hutch did try to save himself this time? How far would the blond-haired man have to go—to stop a man possessed?

Hutch's big-bad nightmare was of him killing Starsky in self-defense.

Starsky felt a tug at his arm and turned to face Angeline. "He's a piece a work, huh? All this time--- I thought he was scared _of_ me—not scared _for_ me." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, now we know." Dr. Benjamin told him.

"Yeah…so, how you gonna help him—now that we know my buddy suffers from a fear of protecting himself?" Starsky said sadly.

She looked contemplative as she considered the dark-haired detective's question.

"I'm not sure," was her answer.

-oo-

The taller cop had done a bit of sleep walking in the middle of the night—choosing to finish his night's rest on the sofa.

Starsky had waited for signs of life….

As soon as Hutch managed to sit up and started kneading the muscles on the back of his neck –stiff from a few hours of couch sleep---the curly-haired man thrust a cup into his partner's hand.

"_What it is?"_ Hutch asked grouchily.

"Tea."

"_Tea?"_ he asked surprised

"Better for you," Starsky explained.

Hutch cleared his morning throat and blew air at the steaming liquid before taking a sip.

"Thanks," he said sincerely. Hutch focused on the drink until he looked up to see Starsky studying him.

"_What?"_

"The dream," his friend reminded him.

"Ohh. Yeah… _how did the ole exorcism go?"_ Hutch asked sarcastically.

There was a odd pause and then Starsky said, "You might wanna wait and talk to _Angel--_Angeline bout it"

"No games, Starsss—just tell me why you're ogling me like a science experiment gone wrong."

Starsky had to smile at that one.

"Well…Hutch—I'm kinda glad and kinda freaked out about it."

Hutch squinted one eye at his partner as he tried to gauge what might be going on inside his friend's head.

He pushed up off the couch. "Ok—so it's 20 questions." Hearing his own hoarseness, he coughed lightly.

The simple act caused the tiny bit of light Hutch had seen in his partner's face, —to dim. Hutch immediately shook off his just-woke-up-distemper and sat back down on the couch. Facing Starsky, he smiled an apology and Starsky accepted with a hand to his partner's knee.

"Your dream… It's not about me killing you—not entirely. It starts off that way…" Starsky didn't finish.

Hutch looked down to the hand in protective mode that kept a firm hold on him.

"This is gonna suck, isn't it," he predicted.

"Hutch--- can we talk about – in the session? Doc's got one—with me and you this time--it's at 3?"

Hutch shrugged. "Yeah—whatever." But he was scared—both he and Starsky knew that. So Starsky patted the blond-haired man's shoulder as he stood.

"I'm gonna cook some eggs…scrambled good for you?"

"Sure. Scrambled," Hutch answered, already completely distracted by what was coming—3'o clock.

**(tbc)**


	9. Chapter 9

Angeline was in shock…

She had an early morning meeting –just a short drive really. Two flat tires later and it being nearly twelve-- she was getting a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Cars on the road, a short cut she thought herself so smart to have happened on to, whizzed by her without consideration.

Stranded.

At least it wasn't night time. She needed a phone and a tow truck and some good-natured friend or family member to get her to her office. All of this needed to happen by 3 pm. The session with David and Ken was critical. She wouldn't have canceled it for an earthquake. Headache starting …and her aspirin in her desk – another excellent reason to find quick passage to her office.

_Two Flats_?

Something about that didn't set well with her and she couldn't help but feel a tiny shudder when she tried to rationalize why --- today? –why now? _Coincidence?_ Whatever the answers to those questions were –they would have to wait. At the moment, she was praying for one of those angels in waiting, her grandma always talked about showing up unexpectedly.

She heard the sound of tires on dirt and gravel. Some one had slowed down. The white man in his late fifties had skin made of leather, eyes black as coal surrounded by hideous yellow-- broken off teeth gave her a malicious greeting. _"_Looks like _you_ got trouble_, sweetheart_," he said deliberately as if the words had hidden meaning and like he had intentions -- a man on a mission.

This was no angel. Angeline had wisdom and discernment—a gift of hers—one that had on many occasions put her on the other side of danger—instead of in the middle of it. She knew it was best not to give him the least bit of confirmation of the organic fear he sent through her. It was not the kind of fear that had to be debated in her head—it was out and out gut fear. Her spirit came to full attention…warning her of danger and…comforting her with the assurance of safe passage.

Would she need to run, Angeline wondered? She slowly slipped a heel out of one her pumps—ready to fling it off in a ditch or at his head …and then the other to take off into the woods behind her.

"M'Here – to help. _Just say the word, little girl_," the creep offered, leaning out his window and lustfully giving her body an intrusive once over while grinning even more of his discolored teeth to her. He spat brown liquid on the ground near her feet.

Angeline stared him down. She wouldn't let him know how much her insides were quaking.

Where was a cop when you needed one… she thought.

She heard the crunch of gravel…

"Hey—there, folks," another male voice announced.

It was Lt. Ryan Williams. His car pulled to the side of the road.

He had been one of the men at the meeting of police officials and staff psychiatrists that Dr. Benjamin had just attended.

The officer must have driven by Angeline's disabled vehicle and stopped to help her….

_No--_ there weren't any coincidences.

The doctor remembered clearly how during introductions that morning Lt. Williams had given her a warm two handed shake. The more-than-your-regular- handshake had caused her to look up into his face--- Time had stalled in that moment and she found herself drawn in by his twinkling warm eyes.

He didn't speak as he molded strong hands around hers. The lieutenant had given her a broad smile before releasing his grip. And then the moment was gone and another person had introduced themselves to her. But Angeline had watched the man who made his presence known walk back to his seat.

"Doctor Benjamin? _You OK?_"

She smiled into the face of broken teeth… The physical manifestation of evil glowered back at her. "Looks like-- my help_ is here_," she attempted to say boldly but her voice was shaky.

And the man who had come out of nowhere to cause her harm didn't like the way things how turned out. He revved his dirty car's engine and spun tires…spitting dirt and gravel onto her legs.

The ghoulish driver pointed a crooked finger at her and sped off.

"What was that all about?" Lt. Williams asked with concern.

She found herself trembling and he stood closer to look in her face. "That guy messing with you?"

"He's gone now," she smiled weakly at her rescuer.

**-oo-**

Angel --the name was no accident. Angeline was a surprise to a woman in her late 40's who had never been pregnant. The pregnancy was considered to be Godly intervention. Divinity at work. "An angel come to earth," the child's father had exclaimed as he watched her arrival into the world. So it was _Angeline t_o make it pretty—but all her family looked at her as a gift from heaven.

Most of them called her "Angel" but Angeline knowing the responsibility of the shortened version preferred the prettier moniker. But she always felt inside like carried something inside her—something special…and _that something_ --one day would reveal itself to her. Angeline knew even as a child--that she had a purpose—a job to do—one she couldn't fail.

Her grandmother, Gladys, had pulled her aside one day to tell her so. "Child, you is a gift, for sure. But remember now—not everyone's happy that you're here. Things will happen 'round you, you won't understand. Just know God's gotcha honey. Always'got a hedge of protection around you, Angel. You're one of his special ones, baby. Don't never let them things scare you."

"What things, grandma?" the puzzled eight year old child asked.

"Just 'member-- you don't never have to scared of nothin'."

_Not be scared_—for a kid—that was a hard nut to swallow. She was scared of spiders, of falling off her bike. Scared of Jake—the bully down the way, a few mean teachers or failing surprise quizzes…and of course—her aunt Tia and her mysterious husband.

Angel was also scared of the things she felt but couldn't verbalize—the presence of maliciousness and evil. It made her pulse race--- sometimes she could sense it in the people that passed by her, or the cashier that handed her coins of change. She tried to pretend it was her imagination—but those individuals that made her skin crawl would squint or frown back at her. Didn't matter --they always recognized her. She could tell by the way they pointedly studied her—transmitting quiet messages of their disdain for her.

Those quiet communication—unspoken threats came through clearly and she understood them perfectly. Her Aunt Tia, although she did a good job of keeping the disregard for Angel from her face—Angeline could read it in her dark eyes. A tempest of hate…carefully manipulated to hide it from anyone else—but Angel always knew it was there. She had never told anyone—but often times her Grandmother would always increase one hundred fold the hugs and gentle squeezes when the malevolent couple would be near her precious grandchild. Reminding her not to be afraid.

Angeline Benjamin, a grown woman and a doctor to boot, had thought that the battle between principalities was no longer her fight.

Years had passed with out any of the paranormal incidences. Still-- she always had her discernment-- a well exercised muscle that had become instinct –intuition.

Don't go in there, stay away from that person… drive that route… stay home tonight. Dr. Benjamin incorporated the silent messages into her regular everyday living… Every young woman living alone in a big city had to be mindful of protecting themselves against predatory attacks.

Ken and Dave…her new patients had stirred up some stuff Angeline had thought she had put to rest. Angel—no one called her that much anymore—was going to have to recalculate the importance of the gifts her Grandmother had assured her would always keep her out of danger. And she had the promise –her grandma had given her—help was always on the way--There would always be rescuer.

Just like it had today.

The woman doctor had a lot of things to think about...

Then there was the absolute attraction she felt for Ken Hutchinson—apparently he was attracted to her too. They had a long talk about it. Weighing the plus and minuses of them pursuing an ongoing relationship of some kind. The handsome detective's lists of only pros --he read off to her with a solicitous grin. She was more that tickled at some of the reasons he'd listed – a few salacious ones had made her whole body tingle. But the woman—who took her job as a doctor very seriously—couldn't move past the complete unprofessionalism of becoming romantically involved with a patient. No matter how much her heart wanted her to take the leap.

Yes—there was a good possibility Ken could be the love of a lifetime... but then there was also the fact that he was a cop. She knew firsthand the horrors of the job and what stress it put on relationships-- and then the whole black and white thing—interracial couples had to be prepared to face a world of dissaproving glances and verbal assaults --and even physical confrontations.

When all had been said-- Angeline had decided to be a good doctor. She had kissed him on the cheek…and sighed, knowing that she might be passing up something wonderful. And so they were doctor and patient again.

Doctor Benjamin wasn't happy about that, but it was the right decision for now… and maybe someday the circle of life would be kind enough to bring a healthy and healed Ken Hutchinson back to her. Hopefully he'd still have a list of reasons why they should give it a go and she wouldn't put up a fight –next time.

**-ooo-**

Starsky hung up the phone. He was solemn and his mind was quickly trying to devise a plan.

Angeline had just called. She wasn't going to be able to meet with him and Hutch. She sounded tired and was vague about the reasons why she was a no show. The doctor, sincerely apologetic, rescheduled the appointment for 10 am the next morning. The dark-haired man ran a hand through the forest of ebony curls on his head. He silently cursed the situation. Hutch had a right to know the truth and there wasn't any way the man, Starsky knew as his best friend, would stand to wait another day to hear it.

Starsky had spent most of the afternoon trying to avoid telling him anything about the session with the doctors the night before and what it told them about why Hutch couldn't get a full night's rest. Or why he had the panic attacks. It was annoying the hell out of the tall blond man. Finally Starsky _suggested_ a nap might make him less cranky and had ordered him to bed.

Hutch must have been extremely tired – because even though the demand made him sputter off some expletives in response—he had shuffled rather than stomped his way back into his bedroom. But now it was nearing 3pm and Starksy could hear him moving around again-- probably awakened by the ringing phone.

The dark-haired man only had a few seconds to come up with a plan—_a scheme_- _a miracle_- to distract his partner until 10 am the next morning.

"_Terrific."_ Starsky cynically muttered to himself.

"Who was that?" 

The voice startled Starsky mainly because his mind had drawn a blank on the _plan_ he was supposed to _formulatin_g. He spun around to find Hutch studying him intently.

The chances of using pizza or a movie as a ruse of distraction quickly vanished under the stare Hutch gave him. The swarthier cop calculated there was actually only a few minutes between that hard stare and Hutch confronting him about last night… and what his dreams had revealed.

There was no way an offer of pizza piled high with his partner's choice of veggies, or a trip to the nearest college to attend the showing of some old French film _with subtitles_--not even the report of an alien invasion of the planet-- would stop Hutch from expecting Starsky to come clean here and now, _without delay_ about what he had been trying to keep secret.

"Uhmm—that was..ahh Dr. Benjamin," Starsky admitted reluctantly.

"Great." Hutch moved to the closet to grab a jacket. "Let's get this over with," he said sternly.

Starsky in two steps came to stand next to him. He gently touched Hutch's reaching arm.

"What?" Hutch's brow furrowed as he wondered why Starsky was stopping him.

"Angeline cancelled us—for today, buddy," Starsky said softly, knowing the words would surely upset his friend.

"What's wrong? She alright?" Hutch asked with concern.

"Sure—she ran into some problem. Nuthin' she couldn't handle. Just-- she needed to reschedule us-- _to tomorrow_…"

"No." Hutch's voice was low, but the emotion in it made Starsky wince.

What Hutch needed to come terms with wasn't something you discussed over coffee. It was serious business. Both doctors had talked about the fact that an individual's mind had a way to protect a person from things they weren't ready to deal with. Angeline wanted to make sure that Hutch was ready to face what he'd been trying to block for weeks. It could go badly.

"Starsky – I'm not waitin' to the morning."

"Hutch I don't think…"

"_Don't think what!"_ Hutch was frustrated and soon Starsky expected he'd be angry.

Although the emotion that flitted across Hutch's face wasn't all anger. The look attempted to mask the recognition of the proverbial two-ton elephant in the room. It was a confession of sorts.

Starsky's gut twisted and he realized that neither him nor Hutch could pretend for another second the presence of the invisible pachyderm didn't fill the space between them.

The shorter cop surveyed his haggard friend and decided --doctor or no doctor—it was time to close that space. But, was Hutch ready for it was the question?

"Hutch--I'm not really sure. We shouldn't do this without the doc…"

"Sick of this!" Hutch raged. "This is bullshit! What was she gonna tell me?" He nervously raked a hand through his hair. Obviously preparing himself for the news, the blond detective squared his shoulders. "Just say it."

Starsky, struggling with uncertainty, answered. "I don't think I…"

"_Tell me!"_

It was a standoff until the slighter man, acknowledging that his partner wasn't going to back down, nodded his surrender.

"Sit down." Starsky pointed him toward the kitchen table.

Hutch immediately took a seat at the table and then watched and listened to Starsky take his time dragging one of the metal and vinyl chairs across the floor to sit close by him.

"You're stallin'-- _just spill it._ You're starting to piss me off, Gordo."

Starsky gave him a small smile and lightly patted his hand. "Ok."

Hutch's eyes impatiently searched his partner's face. _"What?"_ he demanded.

"_Alright—I'm gonna tell ya_." Starsky paused to study his friend's face again. He sighed lightly before he continued, "Hutch-- when I ahh– when I woke up in that hospital on the island and Huggy told me…" Starsky shook his head, finding it too hard to speak the memory out loud.

If the taller man thought his partner was playing the sympathy card it didn't show. Hutch quickly responded, "Look, Starsky—we don't have to go through all that. We both know…"

"_No_—buddy we both don't know anything… that's the problem with this craziness. _Maybe_… just maybe-- I could forgive myself for letting that bastard get under my skin-- only cuz I know you don't want me walkin' around feelin' guilty. Don't matter none--it's too hard not thinking about what I –what I did…" The man talking self-consciously looked down at the hands Hutch had just watched him discreetly tuck under the table.

"_Stars… don't. I-I don't need you to do this._"

"_No.._." Starsky cut him off. "You're havin' these dreams 'cuz we got some stuff to talk about. Plain and simple. You said you wanted to know what's going on with you--_so_-- just let me get this out. _Right?"_

Starsky could see Hutch's body tense at the request –but the pale guy with dark circles under his eyes gave him a nonchalant shrug and sat back in his chair.

Starsky smiled to himself. His partner's attempt at casual annoyance failed completely. Hutch's light blue eyes skittered past looking him in the face.

_Still blocking it, buddy_

The dark-haired man continued anyway, "You know… aah Huggy had to explain it-- over and over again—cuz I wouldn't believe it…that I had tried to hurt you like that. Couldn't believe that I had tried to do anything to bring an end to you being here…" Starsky eyes glistened to deep blue glass.

"Starsk…you don't hafta to do this—I know you. Hutch leaned in closer to him. "I_ know you_," he said softly.

"I appreciate that, buddy. But…" Starsky paused, "…me and you have battled all kinds of enemies. _This guy_—_he beat us_. Got between us. Damn if I know how he got to me… I hate that I let him…"

"_You didn't let_ … _you couldn't stop it_. I don't what Papa Theodore used or did to get to you Starsk…"

Starsky cut him off again, "_Don't you wonder why?"_

"_Yeah_. Of course I wonder how he did it…"

"No…" Starsky hesitated as he thought carefully about what to say next. 

There was quiet until he spoke again. "You know...told ya I--ahh went to that victim support meeting?"

Hutch's expression immediately soured. Anger fired off. "_I'm no helpless …"_

"Ain't sayin' that," Starsky said sincerely enough to diffuse the fair-haired man's ire.

"We both didn't ask for this-- I get that. But all I'm sayin' is some of what those ladies said about what happened to them—_how it made them feel_—has got to be some of what you're feeling. When sumpthin' creeps out of the dark—trying to take you out—you have a response to that. _Hutch…" _Starsky paused,_ "_--as much as you keep trying to play like you don't have a response to it—the more it's gonna keep trying to get outta ya…"

Hutch was still. Only the fluttering of his wheat-colored lashes gave away that he was pondering the sage wisdom of his partner. "Guess I never thought of it that way," he straightforwardly admitted.

Realizing his statement had made a dent in his partner, Starsky smiled warmly.

"Pretty smart guy-- I don't care bout what other people say about you," Hutch lightly kidded.

"Those the same folks that are always tell me I'm the smart one?' Was what Starsky replied in the same spirit of good-naturedness.

They both chuckled and then Starsky got serious. He sighed, looked into his friend's face and told him. "Your dreams…are 'bout you killing me."

The somber comment stunned Hutch—his mouth dropped open and the shock of the words twisted his features and physically shook him. "N-n-oo. No--I--that's not…poss—possible—I- wouldn't…" 

He stood up and Starsky, uncertain as to what his partner would do next, got up with him.

Hutch looking horrified searched his partner's face for explanation.

Starsky, protectively slipped an arm around his shoulder. Speaking quietly he told him, "Buddy, this whole thing don't make sense. The other night… you told us what you've been dreamin'. _In the dream--_ we're here-- me and you-- in this apartment. Not on Playboy Island. I come after you—and you do—what you didn't do there. In the dream—you… try to protect yourself and ahh… I guess you can figure out the rest…"

Hutch's struggle to breathe brought the soliloquy to an end.

"_Babe?"_ Starsky asked.

The blond-haired man shot out from under him and into both a physical and emotional corner.

"Hutch." Starsky sought after him.

"N-no. I-I c-couldn't. I couldn't—I wouldn't do that…Starsk..I-I. Ohh no. _Oh god." _Hutch's lamented sorrow echoed his cries from the night before, when Miranda had tried to walk him through the dream that haunted him.

As soon as the dark-haired man laid hands on him, Hutch jerked away and seemingly from the very truth that Starsky had just spoken.

He didn't get very far before the existence of that truth manifested itself. Backing into a wall and crumbling to the floor, Hutch uttered a grunt of protest and the sad scene played out in his head.

_Swirling color twisted and turned—settling into bold images—plain as day. Starsky pawing at the leather jacket Hutch wore. His arm locked under Starsky's chin and the dark curly hair on his cheek was damp with sweat. The body of his partner twisted against him – but Hutch more firmly squeezed his forearm across Starsky's throat. He heard the choking and gasping and kept the pressure there –watched Starsky's blue __Adidas __sneakers kicking out an effort to push up off the floor. He couldn't see his face –but Hutch felt the man in his grip's fight for life weaken…_

_The Venice Street apartment was in shambles…wrecked by the battle between the two men. Starsky had attacked and Hutch had fought him with everything in him… _

_He was terrified and horrified… he was killing his partner--- killing Starsky – Hutch's own soul dying with Starsky's last gasps._

_How could he choose his own life over __that of his partner _

"_Hutch." _

His spirit wept…he wept…and mourned out loud as Starsky's body slumped against him.

"_Hutch."_

Nooo… Noooo! Nooo!

"_Hutch?"_

A hand touched his face… _what?_ He pulled away…from it. Starsky's hand from the grave—

Noo!

"Hutch."

The hand and fingers slid down his cheek… they were warm…and loving

—not cold and angry…

He wanted to look up to see who they belonged to but… he knew them…

"Starsk?"

"_Yeah." _

Hutch took in a deep breath and then another. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he looked once more to his partner for resolution.

"_The dream_," Starsky told him as he took a seat on the floor facing his friend.

"We had a fight… I h-hurt you…and you—you…I can't believe I…did…" Hutch voice was shaky.

"You didn't do anything—_it was a dream_, buddy." Starsky, tilted his head to peer into his friend's face. "You ok, now?"

"I think so," Hutch answered softly. He hadn't run off and he didn't have the panic attack that normally happened. But the vivid revelation of the dream that had been inside him since Playboy Island had left him feeling disturbed and disoriented.

Starsky massaged fingers into the bunched muscles of Hutch's shoulders. "Yours is a dream. That's all, partner," he gently assured.

Hutch nodded.

"But –me-- I actually did hurt you…"

"Starsk…"

"I don't remember nuthin' about doin' that to you," Starsky revealed sadly. "Hutch, I asked you before--Aren't you wondering why I didn't fight em off."

"That bastard _–he put something in your food!" _Hutch said with more than a hint of vengeance.

"This woman from the group- Marilu-- said she couldn't ever forget or forgive the person she trusted—who did to her what I did to you."

"Starsky…I don't blame you."

"OK. So maybe you don't blame me. But that's not all of it. Is it? This woman, Marilu-- said she wondered why the person she trusted couldn't have fought off what ever demon it was that possessed them."

Starsky watched Hutch shut his eyes.

They were finally gonna talk about it…

About the damage done to their relationship- about how Hutch really felt about what Starsky had done to him…about how he feared Starsky would hurt him again.

"Is that what you think, Hutch?"

There was silence.

Instead of talking, Hutch coughed hoarsely.

Starsky looked him over. Hutch was washed out…like a man who hadn't slept in forever. The gray coloring of weariness tinted his pale skin.

"Wait." Starsky told him, getting up off the floor. The dark-haired man began searching the kitchen, fridge. He returned with a tall glass of iced water with lemon.

Hutch, gratefully downed the liquid coolness.

"Ok," Starsky said, as he lowered his body back to the hardwood floor. "Talk."

Hutch worriedly scanned his friend's face. And even though the thought of what he was about to say made Starsky's heart sink the chestnut-haired cop gently encouraged him. "Sokay, partner—you can tell me anything. You know that-- right?"

Guilt rising to Hutch's face made him look extremely vulnerable.

"Sokay, say it. It ain't gonna change anything between us," Starsky softly assured.

"I'm scared," Hutch said.

He looked like it hurt him to say the words and Starksy immediately slid over to his side. He threw an arm over the back of Hutch's neck. "There you go…"

Hutch shook his head, shamefully tearing up at the admission and how much it had pained him to admit it.

"Scared --I might come at you again, _right?"_

Hutch slowly nodded. _"Happy now?"_ He tried for sarcasm but his eyes flooded with tears.

"No," Starsky answered. "No. I just don't want you punishing yourself anymore for being human. That's what the dreams are about. I don't need Angeline or any shrink to explain to me how Ken Hutchinson works or what he thinks. Partner-- I guess I forgot that."

Hutch's expression softened and he allowed Starsky to draw him closer.

They sat for a minute as Starksy ran a comforting hand up and down the length of Hutch's arm.

"You think you can ever trust me again?" Starsky said in a near whisper.

"I know I can… I will… in my heart I do…" Hutch told him.

"I don't how all this happened, buddy. Wish I could tell you how it ended with me trying to squeeze life outta you. It kills me...thinking about what you musta been thinking-- _knowing it was me_…"

Starsky stopped talking.

"Papa Theodore didn't beat us, Starsk. He just messed with our heads. Look at us—it's still the both of us. Backed into a corner maybe—but it's still me and thee, partner."

Starsky thought it over and decided he had to face some truths, too. It had been incredibly painful living with what the Bokor had made him do to his best friend. But here they were. And the real deal—the gospel truth was-- **nothing** on earth or beyond, or below could separate them. They'd been chased down, shot at, kicked, punched, drugged, beaten and more by the worst of them --- but nothing had or could ever destroy the bond…the love that they had for each other.

The curly-haired detective turned his head slightly. Giving Hutch a three quarter profile and flashing his partner a mischievous grin he said, "So lest we run into another voodoo priest…"

"Or vampire_… "_Hutch feigned with a dramatic delivery.

"_Or werewolf…"_

"Right…or demonic possession," the taller man suggested with a devilish grin.

"Right… alien possession, too." Starsky nearly giggled after he'd said the words with deadpan seriousness.

"Yep. Can't leave them out."

They smiled at each other even though both had eyes glistening bright.

Starsky said somberly, "I'd fight 'em all – to the death, Hutch."

Hutch gave him a grace-filled nod. "Me, too, buddy."

_Starsky cast his eyes down, "_If _you _had_ tried to..._umm- _protect yourself_ back on Playboy Island…"

"I don't want talk about that,"Hutch told him.

"Ok—for now. But that's a talk we're gonna have to deal with—and soon."

"I know." Hutch sniffed and zipped a finger under the damp corner of his right eye.

"Guess maybe we should let Dr. Benjamin handle that one. Give you two a little bit longer to find out how much you like each other."

"You're crazy—you know that?"

"Well right now—_I'm hungry_. How about you?"

"I could eat."

Starsky got up. "Man, I got a mad pizza craving—_with veggies_."

"Really?" Hutch replied with disbelief. "Guess I'm rubbing off on you after all. Maybe now we can work on that thing you like to call charm—help you with the ladies…"

"Well, Blondie—I ain't never had any trouble in the ladies department. I wouldn't mind givin' you a few pointers though if that's what you're hinting at."

"That'll be the day," Hutch playfully muttered under his breath.

Starsky winked back at him. "I'm not kidding about the pizza though," he confirmed.

_"Are you asking me if I want pizza –without a half inch of grease floating on the top?"_

"Nope-- I'm tellin' ya. I'm making the call right now… onions, mushroom peppers, broccoli, tomato, maybe, eggplant? or…"

"Starsk, didn't think you could even name five vegetables."

"Sure can pal—wait and see," he announced as he made a deliberate swat at Hutch's ducking head. The energetic man simultaneously jumped up to make the short trip to the phone.

Before he walked away, Starsky took a moment to give his partner empathetic scrutiny. A last inspection for any secreted pain.

Hutch bowed his head, warmly offering, "We're gonna be fine, Starsk. I promise I'm not gonna let this get in our way."

The dark-haired cop nearly blushed at his friend's quick translation of Starsky's need to have things be right between them.

"Right. Ummh- I- I-m gonna get-- make that call," the slightly embarrassed man said as he scurried out.

**-oo-**

Hutch felt good. Relaxed and hopeful. Somehow his best friend had managed to exorcise his burden. One he hadn't even realized was weighing him down…dragging his spirit to the ground with it. He took a deep breath of the sea air. A person could exist on adrenalin, love, thrills, or passion- but no one could ever have a meaningful life-- living in fear. That's what he had been doing. Fear was a consuming fire--it demanded all your attention – all your dreams…your soul…the very air you breathed.

It had been choking him.

He wasn't born to live that kind of life—to serve that kind of cruel master. Not when life had so many and wondrous things to offer. A fulfilling job he knew gave him the opportunity to make a difference in the world. There was good food, and drink, laughter—and most important of all – great friendships. What more could a person want?

Maybe, Hutch thought to himself—it wasn't just a cliché-- maybe Love does conquer all.

**-o-**

Hutch, stretched out long and lean on his back—hands behind his head -- quietly studying the sky, had fallen asleep.

**-o-**

It had been a very hot day—so even though it had turned dark hours ago-- the sand was still warm under him. Starsky sank his toes into it.

He and his partner had walked from Hutch's apartment and onto the beach. Had eaten, shared a few philosophical observations, and watched the sun set.

His gazed meandered over the empty beer bottles and the cardboard pizza box—the lid flopped open showcased only bits and pieces of crust, and one lone slice drying up into a curl.

The men hadn't talked much more since they had plopped down on the beach with the pizza box and a six pack of beer between them. They didn't have to. They were back in sync.

Hutch lying on his back had pensively been studying the stars until he had gone to sleep. Now, Starsky was pensively studying his best friend. The lines of tension in Hutch's face since they had returned back to the mainland—were gone. Finally.

Starsky was grateful for that and more.

He watched the sleeping man, Hutch's flaxen hair gently feathered by the warm sea breeze, his chest rising and falling in blissful respite.

Starsky frowned when he thought about the last time they had been on the beach together. He shook off the memory and let his eyes rest back on the man who had been more than friend to him for the past 6 years.

Good years…

More of Hutch's platinum strands flicked in the wind and Starsky jutted out a hand to push them back. The tender act flashed a neon sign of realization.

He would never have imagined doing that for any the other buddies he had known in his life.

A man like himself shouldn't get such comfort from gazing at another man's restful slumber.

A Brooklyn-born native son shouldn't want to lay flat blond strands made rebellious by gentle gusts.

A tough guy like David Starsky shouldn't be driven to near madness when Hutch's life was in peril… not unless..

unless…

Yes…

Yeah...

He could say it.

Admit it.

He he was enamored with the guy. Where did the blond Blintz come from anyway?

His best friend was like some mythical Nordic beast walking in present day.

Starsky thought the guy was a hero. One who had mystical powers that gave him the power to conquer every adversity—dropping his mighty hammer on every battling foe—time and time again victorious.

Yet still his best friend's gentle and nurturing spirit was a constant source of strength to him. His love unconditional—even in the worst of times.

Starsky had immense respect for him—loved to be in his company—around him. Sometimes in a room full of people the dark-haired man would find himself watching his pal make his way from person to person—carefully weighing the interaction and what new thing it might reveal about his best friend. He wouldn't make any apologies about it either. Hutch would often smile his acknowledgement of such monitoring—knowing full well he was capable of dishing out the same--keeping Starsky under such circumspection.

Hutch was his hero—he had measured up and surpassed all of Starsky's expectations of him.

Out of no place the blond-haired man could turn jokester--- or out of nowhere shy and clumsy. It made Hutch a bit of an enigma and Starsky found all of the sides of his complex friend pretty fascinating.

Hutch had brought laughter and cleansing joy to the dark-haired man--a brother to stand by, a friend to confide in and so much more…

Plainly—Starsky was unabashedly fond of his partner.

Being a man—He would never make such declarations out loud -- but he was man enough to admit them to himself.

Hutch let out a heavy sigh and with zombie like motion turned to lie on his side. He mumbled something indecipherable that burrowed troublesome lines in his brow

"Don't worry 'bout it," Starsky said, dipping his head close to Hutch's ear to deliver the words. "The battle's won, buddy."

Starsky watched the worry lines smooth out and smiled valiantly.

**-oo-**

**The End**


End file.
